Sarah Orne Jewett

I've been reading this novella titled The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett, and I've come across one particular quote that is stuck in my mind and I can't fully grasp the interpretation of it. Here's the paragraph for context, I'll bolden the line that I'm stuck on:

"At last I had to say good-bye to all my Dunnet Landing friends, and my homelike place in the little house, and return to the world in which I feared to find myself a foreigner. There may be restrictions to such a summer's happiness, but the ease that belongs to simplicity is charming enough to make up for whatever a simple life may lack, and the gifts of peace are not for those who live in the thick of battle."

I can understand the meaning when referring to difference between the bustling unfriendly battle-field of city life, but I feel like there's a deeper meaning to it that i can barely reach with my fingertips, and I just can't quite grasp it. 

I'll take a look again in the morning to see if a good night's sleep does my thinking any good....

Cat Stole Your Tongue

They always say that talking about your problems is supposed to make you feel better.  You need to get it out of you before it becomes harmful.  What if you've got no one to talk to?  Or, better yet, what if you aren't allowed to talk to anyone?  I'm not one who generally likes to talk too much about everything anyways, but now that I have something to get off my chest, I can't say a word.  Its the worst feeling in the world.  The need to express yourself and verbally get across everything you've been bottling up all this time, but you can't find any words.  Even if you eventually did, who is there to listen?  If you do reach out and find the words to tell anyone, there's that big fat elephant in the room just lurking in the corner every time you see them after that.  All of a sudden, that's all you have to talk about anymore, but you can't, because you feel like the overbearing open book.  Then, you can't talk to anyone because you realize your every move is being documented and misconstrued.  Before you know it, you end up writing obscure posts such as this because there is no other safe way to say anything.  How sad is it that an obscure blog post has become more personal and private than a journal?  Yes, just about anyone searching for it can find my post, but those who know of my journal and want its contents pose a greater threat since unabriged and descriptive thoughts get added almost daily.  Obscurities have their advantages when you're in this situation, and while I've still somewhat got the ability to, I might as well talk.

Constant Stress

It's hard to bottle everything up
And just wait patiently.
To keep everything locked up tight,
Just where its supposed to be.


To betray everyone
Saying you're alright,
To be the one who doesn't
Get sleep at night.


To keep everyone safe
From those thoughts running wild.
To protect them all,
Even though you're the child.


They treat you as if 
You're completely naive.
But you've learned from them
Quite well how to deceive.


So lonely you stay,
In that small little space.
On the outside of you
There is hardly a trace.


Naive they will remain,
And you'll be just fine.
Until that bottle bursts...