Sipping wine in the loft of the studio where we'd have sex later, I said something clever. Not clever in the snappy sense, but clever in the whispering to myself "Julia, do you actually have that much self-awareness?" way.
I said that I had trouble realizing that I was sad in the moment, so most of my life feels like it's the best it's ever been. There are exceptions, but they are so bad that I fade them out so that I barely remember them. Sophomore year, for instance, I was being steadily beaten to a pulp, and I can only see that now. Junior year, apart from the week of frozen tears and madness, I only processed when I wrote my letter to the department. The week of tears is a foggy blur.
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