Friday, April 24, 2015
She wants me to love her as she loved her mother. She wants me to devote myself to her as she devoted herself to her mother. I loved my mother, she says. Sweet, dear mother, she says. That, I want to say, is the issue at hand. Your mother, who died before I was born, was sweet, or so you remember her to be. I have no personal confirmation of this character description. But I believe that your mother held the succulent nectar of sugar. You describe another mother, not mine, I want to say. So much I want to say that's not sweet or dear. Your mother, not mine, so sweet and not here.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Afternoon off. Hair cut. Late lunch. Find licorice mix by the pound. Refrain from advising cross dresser who's frustrated because he can't find a bra that fits (38 too tight, 40 too loose). Walk around lake.