I told K about how first semester I was terrified all the time, and I kept waiting for someone to tell me to quit, and she got this look on her face (like “GOD”) and put her forehead against the heel of her hand. “I know, I know,” I said. And the thing is that there are plenty of people who might tell me to quit, but it doesn’t mean that getting the fuck out of my own way isn’t absolutely imperative.
Here we are, in the winter, on the hill. Nothing else matters. It could make you cry. It really could.