I used to lie between cool, clean sheets at night after I'd had a bath, after I had washed my hair and scrubbed my knuckles and finger-nails and teeth. Then I could lie quite still in the dark with my face to the window with the trees in it, and talk to God.

Frances Farmer

Cool After Bath Between Clean Could Dark Face God Had Hair Knuckle Lie Night Quite Sheets Still Talk Teeth Then Trees Used Washed Window

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I didn't think then, and I still don't, that I was actually sick.

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It puzzled me that other people hadn't found out, too. God was gone. We were younger. We had reached past him. Why couldn't they see it? It still puzzles me.

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I couldn't get that same feeling during the day, with my hands in dirty dish water and the hard sun showing up the dirtiness on the roof tops. And after a time, even at night, the feeling of God didn't last.

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But I was sure of one thing. If God were a father, with children, that cleanliness I had been feeling wasn't God.

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I wondered a little why God was such a useless thing. It seemed a waste of time to have him. After that he became less and less, until he was... nothingness.

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