a piece of her mind :: essays research papers

Often our choices are base upon our basic needs and what makes us feel safe. Yet, there is always that subtle doubt tangled within our gut, wondering what would perk up happened if we took the dangerous, the hesitant, and the more stir path. One of the most universal experiences human beings face as we fuck off to age is we spark off to look back upon our lives and wonder if we made the advanced choices. For some people, they experience a mid life crisis and choose to start all over again, desperately yearning for a different result. Others incubate in a sense of melancholy, saddened by their fantasies of what life could have been had they elect the other path. What if I had married differently? What if I had chosen a different career? These what ifs begin to pile on top on unrivalled another, creating a disappointing mountain of uncertainty and speculation. Within Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf portrays Mrs. Clarissa Dalloway as a woman who is exploring these questions in a single afternoon of her life. If Mrs. Dalloway were to have kept a diary during this one day in her life, the future(a) is an excerpt of what I think she would have written in it. pricy Diary,As a cloud crossed the sun, silence falls on London and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit upholds the human frames.(49) anterior today, he just stood there in front of me, his failure range seeming more daunting than ever before. As my eyes met his, drapes of retentivity began to unravel within my mind, uncovering the ancient sheds of abandoned feelings. It was too touchy to ignore the pulsating pain I felt when my eyes met hit. My eyes devilishly searched for an escape outlet. As I passed through the gigantic wooden doors towards the humbled populate, I was forced to confront the amber-stillness of a surprisingly placeless place. I scanned the room I had just finished cleaning nearly an hour earlier. o pus it all appeared to be in order and cleansed of any dust or untidiness, any slight disorder popped out at me. The tired shelves leaned to one side under the weight of absent books, now pushed to the floor perchance by the wind. Faces were covering the wall, trapped in black and white inclemency of photographs and the muted murmur of faded laughter.