kissing pillows, breathing gin

   I can remember that when I was around ten, I started to think that it would be so fun to be around for the new millennium, I couldn’t wait to see the year 2000. I figured out that I would be thirty-three by then, and I had a definite idea of what that meant. I took it for granted that I would be married with kids, that by then I’d have made partner in some law firm, or I’d have tenure at some tweedy university, or I’d be mayor or congresswoman and thinking about my bid for the presidency. Or, more likely, I’d be some kind of artist, a painter or writer, but my husband would be a more conventional type, maybe he’d be the law partner or professor or elected official, and I would be his glamorous and unpredictable wife. We would have little adorable daughters or bratty, athletic sons. We would be lovely.

   But, in truth, I don’t think I ever thought this through in such a detailed manner. I didn’t have to: It was all taken for granted. It was all so obvious. You didn’t wonder about how life would turn out, because you just sort of knew. There was a way things were meant to be, and by the year 2000, they would be that way. Of course. Of course they would.

- Elizabeth Wurtzel: More, Now, Again