"When you organize one of the contradictory elements out of your work of art, you are getting rid not just of it, but of the contradiction of which it was a part; and it is the contradictions in works of art which make them able to represent us- as logical and methodical generalizations cannot- our world and ourselves, which are so full of contradictions." Randall Jarrell

Alice worked out at the gym, did hot yoga, cooked from scratch, rode a bicycle everywhere, grew tomatoes in a little pot on her kitchen windowsill, and worked for a non-profit. In addition to all this, she tried to cultivate healthy relationships. The only thing that didn’t fit was her smoking cigarettes. Her sister argued that this was the obvious reason to stop. “It’s just not you,” she would say. But it seemed to me that this was a very good reason for her to continue smoking- that last habituated trace of her life in New Jersey where she also wore gold jewelry and red lingerie. Otherwise, she would be too cohesive- and when are we ever cohesive unless we are also contrived? Smoking kept her authentic. If she didn’t occasionally smoke, wouldn’t she be like all the other people with eco-sneakers and Sigg bottles; vegetarians (except for fish), avid recyclers, buy-localers?

Well, she did quit smoking. And I think that, more than my moving across the bridge, more than petty jealousies and leonine competition, is to blame for our friendship falling off. I mean, who wants to be friends with an identity?