her sorrows all seem self-inflicted
no one is giving her a hard time about anything
every door is opened for her
she is published, she has a scholarship, no hardships
some vague ‘other girl’ who showed her some writing
and now she is in crisis over some shameful “been doing something that goes against everything i stand for”
considering what she is willing to admit to, this seems it can mean only one thing:
Plagiarism
nothing else is too shocking for her to write explicitly about
but plagiarism is the unpardonable academic sin
it fills the space she’s been dancing all around
this is the kind of stuff that afflicts her:
she exaggerated an illness to dump her summer job for the chance to road trip with 3 boys
every time a new boy walks into her life, her head goes around on a swivel
she starts daydreaming plans with him filling an imaginary role
every man she knows eventually becomes a chore because he is a real person with emotional needs and isn’t just there to fill the frame in her bedside photo
she has ideal man in mind
he must be a ‘demi-god’ standing head and shoulders above all other men in intellect
and capable of appreciating the most idealistic poetry and literature
but he must not write himself because that annoys her when boys show her their writing
he must be better than all other men but not be better than her at anything
(this seems awkward to manage; she is not even the best writer she knows)
rage about anyone being better or acting like they are ahead of her in any way is a recurrent theme
she is envious of boyfriend’s time in hospital bed with all the leisure for reading and thinking he desires
but she just had the same opportunity (faked) but seems to be unaware
now she is jealous of her roommate having so much money from her summer job
she has a back-up plan in reserve to keep a group of men dangling in the breeze and vanish to England for a year and see if she can snag some spectacular man not heard of in their circles
she is grappling with the fact that she is incapable of loving anyone, never feels anything for anyone, fantasizes about murdering her mother
but never doubts for an instant that she deserves nothing but the very finest specimen of manhood available on the planet
if it doesn’t work, she will pop back in and see what these rubes are up to
she finds this guy later: Ted Hughes - Wikipedia
problem: she has remarked upon the rage it inspires in her if a man expects her to be an audience for his work. she is very sensitive to this as a smothering of her genius, to be made an accessory to his career, a form of chauvinism.
she does not seem to be aware of the reverse being true
so she fills a couple of paragraphs with self-righteous platitudes about the value of human life in the context of the Rosenberg’s trial and executions being in the news daily
she’s very self-congratulatory about her rare capacity to recognise (unlike the peasants she is surrounded by) this deep respect for human life that only poets of her sort can appreciate
