Because I have no income yet, I’ve been window shopping like crazy. Today I caught myself comparing prices for used copies of a collection of Nin essays. Fifty cents, I thought, pretty good. Sure, there’s writing on the first three pages; still, it’s a seventeen cent savings from that other guy with the perfect copy who’s selling for sixty seven cents. Things have gone too far, clearly. In normal life, I don’t really believe it’s possible to consider different prices under a dollar. Basically, if you’re asking me to pay an amount I would not bother to pick up off the ground, it’s a good price.
I’m reading her earlier stuff now, where she gives a lot of serious consideration to how many life experiences she should allow herself to have. Silly Anais, no one gets to pick, I say, and then spend a lot of time congratulating myself on having had the exactly right amount of life experience. It’ll all end in divorce, poodles, and a house on the sea, you mark my words.