who eats the garden peas

Feb 25th. Why did I write that? Because my mind really doesn’t know. Might as well be February although it is actually June… no, it’s not, it’s July. July. Not February. July 25th. And what does it even matter. Sunday. I’m sitting at a typewriter because I had the house to myself for a few minutes and thought I should write what was on my mind before it slipped away. Your sisters are off to Toronto. Nice that they have each other. I hope they can talk to each other. I know we don’t talk about you. They’ve become a part of that group of people in my life that I have to guard against - the ones who can’t allow my pain or that I don’t feel safe with expressing my pain. That breaks my heart. I don’t trust my interpretations and I don’t believe my observations anymore so I hesitate and hold. Everything is like that.

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