she's all alone in a strange town. ninety year old husband stroking out in a nursing home.
they danced once in high school.
hired a 'visiting angel' for herself. in texas, for godsake.
people are different here, she says.
afraid i picked up her anxiety. crap. i'd rather take drugs. than be like that, HER.
i shouldn't read her mail at all. it's all filtered to trash anyway,
after her republican rants-no wonder no one talks to her. jesus.
no clue why i do.
wasted energy.
sorry now
i wasted yours.
(-i say, can i use that story about your mother? i'll do it, and if you want i'll erase.
...it feels kind of invasive?...
looks fine to me...not invasive. nobody knows who it is.
true, it could be anyone's mother, and interestingly, maybe that's a good way to look at our own mothers.)
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