I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my… — Sylvia Plath
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.
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There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road.
How did I know that someday — at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere — the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?
I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.
