May 8, 2015
I started keeping the diary in earnest when I started finding myself in moments that were too full.
At an art opening in the late eighties, I held a plastic cup of wine and stood in front of a painting next to a friend I loved. It was all too much.
I stayed partly contained in the moment until that night, when I wrote down everything that had happened and everything I remembered thinking while it happened and everything I thought while recording what I remembered had happened…
There should be extra days, buffer days, between the real days.
The New Yorker review of Sarah Manguso’s “Ongoingness” — Dear Diary, I Hate You