I keep coming across random memories scrawled
in books all over my house drunk, disorderly
ramblings, of childhood traumas and imagined slights.
Every time I turn over a scrap of paper,
I find the first half of a story about my
favorite cat (she died of lung cancer when I was
4) my first husband (he came out of the closet
and left when I was 25) my newborn son
(struggling for breath in an incubator when he
was 1-day-old) how much I wanted to break
things off with Husband #2 one year before
we were married. Who is this person leaving their
life lying around for all the wrong people to
read?
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