(Edouard Boubat)
There is nothing left. Evaporation took it all. Everything vanished.
I have been sitting here, staring at the screen for an hour. Well, not just staring. I was throwing away old, useless files. House cleaning. My drive is nearly full. It's like much else in my life: a collection of mostly useless things crowding a small handful that matter to me. Everybody's life becomes a confused collection to all others. There is no way to explain most of it. I feel like a bag-lady, pushing along an enormous shopping cart, useless articles tied and swinging from the sides; no forward visibility, a wonky wheel, the drive struggles. I risk losing it all but refuse to sort through it, to purge.
That's the old me, though. Not the woman in the picture, but the habits I describe.
A friend asked me if I had "caught much flack" from yesterday's post.
Nobody bothers the bag-lady.
When I said that I would speak as a woman, well, I never said which one.
A friend asked me if I had "caught much flack" from yesterday's post.
Nobody bothers the bag-lady.
When I said that I would speak as a woman, well, I never said which one.
.
