Friday Brain Candy

First off, I've finished decreasing for the back of my asymmetrical cardi:

Like I said, it's zooming along. I actually think I'll finish this by the end of next week. Too bad spring is rapidly approaching.

Now for the brain candy:

From top to bottom: Journey Into Darkness by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker, Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Inside the Mind of BTK by John Douglas and Johnny Dodd, and The Age of Innocence: A Portrait of the Film by Martin Scorsese and Jay Cocks.

I've read the first, am in the middle of the second, am emotionally preparing for the third, and just flipping through the last for the beautiful photos and the feel of the era. Mostly, I bought the last one because it was being sold by a street vendor for a measly buck. I was browsing and opened the book to this page:

It's a heartbreaking quote and reminds me so much of when I read Kate Chopin's The Awakening for the first time. I've been having these weird dreams lately (some of them mildly frightening) about teeth falling out and being replaced and ordering food and having people cheat me out of five dollars. While none of these situations is life-threatening, I keep waking up with these awful feelings of vulnerability and helplessness. And I think the Wharton quote just alerted me to the reason why.

I read an interesting article a long time ago that talked about how our society projects what we want to on women, but not on men. Men can tell us what they stand for, who they are, what they want, what they need. But we tell women what they stand for, who they are, what they want, what they need. And if women aren't what we want them to be, we get mad. How dare a woman decide for herself? Our society allows women to be "whatever they want," but do they really? Because I see a lot of women being pressured into or punished for their choices every day. Not just strangers, but good friends as well. Right now, I'm like that old R.E.M. song on a loop. "Everybody huuuuuuuuuuurts...sometimes."

This book doesn't hurt...it's just lovely.

Two very short but loaded words. It's in my top ten list of favorite books. The title comes from a repeated sentence throughout the book: "There's no such thing as autobiography there's only art and lies." It's not a perfect book, but I still love it for its imperfections. It's an odd little fictional/philosophical story and her language is overinflated occasionally, but her heart is there.