I’m still reading Nancy Milford’s biography of Edna St Vincent Millay – Savage Beauty. I didn’t know that she was addicted to various drugs of her day. I keep re-reading that part. I skipped to that part. I want to see how all the parts of her life, before her addiction, play into it. Can only read this a small bit at a time.
When my parents would argue, my mother would lie on her bed reading, from the Collected Works of Edna St. Vincent Millay, and sobbing. So she’s in my blood somehow. I also own her collected works.
I suppose life just can get to be too much. I know it can. I see it happening all around me and all around my country and the world.
Ah well, anyways, she’s still something to me.