One evening, half my life ago, I was standing at work.  I think I was a hostess at the Fenway Motor Inn in Cambridge.  I was wearing this two-piece check maxi suit–it was in the 70s.  I was watching boats go down the river.  The window in front of me was like a page and I was writing in a spiral notebook and I got this idea: I drew a sad woman's face and I wrote what she was thinking and I thought, why can't I be famous right now.  Why can't I just act that way.  Why can't I record everything down like my life counts, like I'm the Queen of England or Bobby Vee, and that way I can be safe and not have to wait to die to be important.  Why can't I live right now.  Because I am not rich, I am not a saint.  But I do know this: not all of us were sent here to work.

–Eileen Myles, Cool for You