there really isn’t time right now to write this but it’s in my head so I have to get it out.
Now that Mojo and I are comfortably in our new place, I keep going back to the house every night (almost every night) after work to get more things. Every night that I go, I wander through the place that served me (if not comfortably or well) for thirteen years. I wander through her rooms, through her twisting hallways. Wondering if I could just light a proverbial match and walk away.
I am resentful that I have to keep going back and collecting more things, like a rat, like a crow. I just want to be done, shot of the place. Shot of the place where no one lives anymore.
It won’t be long now; there is a plan in place to have an estate sale to make as much money as I can from the things I don’t want in my life anymore, the things I don’t need in my life anymore. The things that haven’t served me well for years if not decades.
I don’t want to go back anymore.
I don’t have a choice.
The Salty Widow 