Home is insidious. It sneaks up on you in ways you don’t expect, becoming a part of you even if you never asked for it. I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling attached to things, and I don’t like it when things happen without my consent. Nobody does. I didn’t want to live in … Continue reading Insidious
She is happy. She has always liked to do things with her hands; she has always liked to make things, and to look upon them later and say, “I made this. I accomplished something.” She still makes things, sometimes. Knitted caps or scarves or gloves. Handmade greeting cards, for birthdays and anniversaries. Simple things, perhaps, … Continue reading She Is Happy
Gloria loves her baby. He is the meaning in her life; he is that which defines why she lives, and he is what she lives for. She can think of nothing else in her life that has ever meant as much as him: not her parents, not her siblings or her grandparents, and not any … Continue reading Gloria’s Baby
Have you heard about the boy who went down to the ocean? They say he never came back. He went down to see the beach, and to dip his toes in the water. He told his momma he wanted to see what it was like. Well, he went down there, and she never saw him … Continue reading Ocean
She bought a dress to wear, in his favorite color — but she wore it only once.
He has a dream where he is bound to a ring. The ring moves, but he can never tell if it advances forward, rolling along a path, or whether it simply spins around one point, taking him back again and again to the same point of space from which he started. In the dream, the … Continue reading The Ring
Today's entry is short, but it touches on delicate material. There is something she talks about to no-one. It is a thing that she did, or — a thing which was done to her. She makes no distinction between the two, most days. When she does, it is her who is responsible for the action. … Continue reading Responsible