oh, sylvia. why you gotta be so crazy?


Thinking about yesterday’s post got me feeling like Sylvia Plath, as melodramatic as that sounds. Which is kind of funny because I tend to poke fun a lot at the expense of S- Plath.

It’s not uncommon for me to say “Don’t pull a Sylvia Plath, but if you do make sure to leave your kids a snack beforehand” when a friend is down in the dumps.

Yeah, I admit my humor can get really dry and disturbing.   Ouch.

But deep down I love, love, love Sylvia Plath. A lot. Enough to paint a huge board complete with a picture of a bell jar, a portrait of Sylvia Plath and copies of her poems, that made some of my classmates a bit pissed at how into the project I was. And enough to write an entire research paper about her.

Oh, and what a fun paper that was! It’s always fun to write a 20 page paper on the themes of death and feminism! What joy.

But anyways, I was thinking of this quote and how applicable it felt to me and how it

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.  From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.  One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.  I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.  I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet. “

~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 7

And then it lead me to remember all of her notable quotes that showed how much of a bad@$$ she was:

“There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.

"Kiss me and you’ll know how important I am."

"When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.
"Oh, sure you know," the photographer said.
"She wants," said Jay Cee wittily, "to be everything."

If only Sylvia Plath had a sassy gay friend?


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