My mom at her wedding.
I didn’t even get a cake, damn. Wedding as afterthought to work and slavery in corporate.
My mother divorced twice.
I always thought if I got married I would stay married.
But marriage should be about the two people first and it wasn’t.
My friends are going to help me get through this. Slowly. Day 9 anti-d.
Not hungry so has to forcefeed self. A milkshake. Yogurt, banana, chocolate almond milk. Protein powder.
All day it will be paperwork.
I’m afraid to look at this. I am. Because what if my last illusions get shattered?
They might.
Everyone in my family saw and they said nothing while they were alive. Nothing.
They should have. Especially my brother.
The paint is first. As much as I can paint even if one wall, one half a wall, two inches of a window frame.
I am going to send Christmas cards this year.
Nobody who is an artist can live with this much aesthetic sadness surrounding them.
Nobody.
No wonder I have been depressed. At three, the contractor coming by. He was so kind to me. Emotional abuse. That is what this has been. Eventually if you are told you are wrong long enough? There is nothing left.
I bought my cat Ace some catnip. I bought some seeds and flowers yesterday. My whole life was working on things for others. Now it is going to be for myself. Paint colors. I have three tiny cans — one window frame, the trim, the body of the house. At this rate of slowness and the fog I feel because of the anti-d — it’s like being under water a bit. I can’t stand taking it. I have never taken anything in my life like this.
I am going to have to write down what to do each day, like in a day planner.
On eating.
Setting up times. Trying to.
When the house is better, I will be better.
VALENTINE BONNAIRE - WRITER 