complicated hybrid emotions

...emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. i don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. i'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, germanic train-car constructions like, "the happiness that attends disaster" or "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." i'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." i'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." i've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that i've entered my story, i need them more than ever. i can't just sit back and watch from a distance anymore. from here on in, everything i'll tell you is colored by the subjective experience of being part of events. here's why my story splits, divides, undergoes meiosis. already the world feels heavier, now that i'm part of it. i'm talking about bandages and sopped cotton, the smell of mildew in movie theatres and all the lousy cats and their stinking litter boxes, of rain on city streets when dust comes up and the old italian men take their folding chairs inside. up until now it hasn't been my world. not my america but here we are, at last...

from middlesex, by jeffrey eugenides