Another morning. October. 2013
Here I am in yet another house I need to fit into. All my life I have fit into places, that are not wet and least amount of dirty, if I can't paint it, cover it with a blanket or something creative that I have scrounged. Clean it. Scrub it. At least it must be disinfected.
Following on the path of my mother. 'Fix it up nice' "Look here Linda doesn't it look nice now?" My heart would ache for her, not myself. Here I am her age, and now my heart aches for myself. I did the same thing. Traveling through my life seeking a place to live in, but like her I am always with the fix-er-upers. I worked to not be like her, telling myself I have a place, a community, but the ringing reality is the 'fix-er-upers'. Once I had a place for a seeming too short of time, but that too slithered into the depths of where ever these things go... name it lesson to lessen the pain, or at least make sense of it, to bare it.
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