Serial Killers

I’ve met two and survived.  the first one might have been just a horney guy in a van who wanted something back for the ride.

The second one I was led to in California, to fulfill the suggestion in an article in the New York Times describing a killer who’d been caught, including a talk with his female friend.  This was scary.  My junky old car broke down in a mountain pass where, fortunately, there was a gas station/diner.  There was also a creepy guy who sat down at my booth with me, started a conversation, and then asked me if I wanted to go for a ride with him in the mountains.  There was no question that this guy meant to rape me and leave me for dead.  I have never talked about this to anyone.  I got back in my car and it started.  I drove home.  It makes me think of the mountain I was on in Boston when I was failing out of school and trying to write my last paper.  It felt cold and unforgiving.  I still have nightmares about taking exams without preparation, without having read any of the books or even having attended classes.  This is more scary than the serial killer.  It led me to try to take my own life for the first time.

 

But there is something here about suggestion from books and reading, and how it shapes your life, if you don’t have the power of education over it and leads you places in a way you can’t really understand.  Just like what people used to say about t.v.  I read another article in the New Yorker, a three-part series on a patient at Bellevue Mental Hospital in New York.  These two articles gave my life the shape that it has taken.  Together with amateur works from the college literary magazine which I had to read for the Prose Board.  Don’t know what to say.  There are so many dangers out there for a little English girl who thinks she knows, to fall into.  I was naive.

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