There is nothing on earth that could make my immediate world any better. I've come from my job interview-- which really couldn't have gone better, not at all-- and I feel very happy about it, and I've just completed Winter's Light and now I'm sitting looking over the woods and it's raining so hard. It's all so beautiful and green and raining and the temperature is perfect, not too hot, not too cold, and here I have all the tea I want to drink, and my beautiful home, and the knowledge that soon I might have a job. These moments are special.
I look out onto the yellow and brown vegetation beneath my window, at the castle-like buildings far away and wonder where do I lie in all of this? There was a time when I was unfettered. This was a time before I entered the working world, before I was independent. My heart was free as a bird when I was in college. I did not know what happiness I experienced in my creativity because I had never known different. In other aspects of my life I knew pain but my stories, sprung up lately from a gothic mist into an immersing Pre-Raphaelite painting, were a richness and the most beautiful thing I had ever known. That the most beautiful thing I knew to exist happened inside of me made me very happy, even though I didn't know it. Now I know the sun is setting, even though I can't see it, because the bank of brown, twisted trees and shrubs is lit gold, like a reflection from a golden chalice. Slowly, slowly it will fade until everything is a homogenous, uncertain gray. This is the nightma...