Empty Rooms

empty rooms

It kind of looks like The Mystery Spot doesn’t it? As if a small child in the far corner would look bigger than a grownup in the foreground… That is how I feel – like some gravitational oddity, some trick of the eye has rendered me small and tired and sore and scared.

Everything hurts. You know that thing you do when you’ve got a cupboard door open and you are hunkered down underneath wrapping dishes, and you come up fast and connect with your head? I did that like five times. There were folded boxes against a counter and somehow (in my insane HASTE) I caught a corner with my toe, sent several skidding, stepped onto the moving mass with the other foot and flew from the kitchen to the den. I whimpered in a piteous pile for a moment, and then I had to laugh… The tops of my feet are sore. My hip joints are protesting. It pains me to comb my hair.

But I moved. And I really am homeless. And not once during the whole ghastly mess did I think about drinking.

Yesterday at about four o’clock, I did think about just leaving it all. I mean packing my largest Louis Vuitton duffel with a couple photos of Lauren and Jon Jon, a favorite book or two and walking away without the proverbial backward glance.

That has me wondering if I lack sentimentality…

Today I’m not drinking because I’m trying a little tenderness…

How come you’re not drinking?