I like everything en place. I am a Virgo personality.
The house is a mess. Every room. Plus, I’m old.
Less flexible. Intolerant. I can’t take the disruption,
the excitement. I need ten hours a day of solitude.
If I don’t get it for three days in a row I am fit to be tied.
I am a volcano, ready to explode. A toilet that needs flushing.
I need a better metaphor. You know what I mean. Aiee, The Phantom.
I no longer understand my small, desktop, home computer. It’s beyond
my ken. I don’t understand what I see on television. It’s haints and monsters.
Dragons. I am having a nervous breakdown. I am imagining fights with city hall.
Death and taxes. Was Marilyn Monroe’s death an accident?
Or did she just get tired of dealing with the endless hassle?
I’m reading Kate Christensen’s Trouble.
That woman is trouble.
Ain’t it the truth.
Am I past
all that?
Nothing
ever
quits.
Or gets
better.
The IRS is going to penalize us
for Brenda making too much money.