Let me start with lines from a poem by Shelley from "Ode to the West Wind"
"I fall upon the thorns of life. I bleed."
My first and strongest reaction to that? Pick yourself up wipe yourself off and stop whining.
A secondary and much less intensely felt reaction? "poor baby".
So who am I? I have no idea. Still all these years later at 82 I have no idea if I'm kind or mean or thoughtful or thoughtless. SIGH.
Who are you?
