I’m sorry. I come here a lot and then my hands just hover over the keyboard and I close it out and do something else. I don’t seem to have anything to say that I want to say except to myself. Spring break is long gone. I don’t even remember it. A lot of things are gone. Here are some things that existed once but are gone:


This front porch on my childhood home. Demolished. That coat I’m wearing. It’s one of the few I don’t remember. This might be the only photograph of it. Pretty sure, though, that that polyester outfit my mother’s wearing, that she sewed herself, is still in her house somewhere. Probably in the 1969 closet. When she dies and I have to clean out her house, I’m betting that each of her packed closets will represent a different era/decade. Most of them were full by the time I was a teenager. I shudder to think what’s in them now. There used to be zipper bags full of perfectly preserved Dry-Cleaned Clothes from Long Ago in the studio closet. Bet they’re still there.

Here’s another thing gone:


I’ve mentioned ad nauseam that I took ballet for nine years as a child. This is one outfit I don’t remember but clearly it existed. I wasn’t a ballerina but I liked to pretend I was one. In my head, I was a lot of wonderful things. In reality, I was just a kid desperate for unconditional love and a spectacular talent of some kind. Still waiting for both to happen even though I now know life isn’t really that cut and dry. You have to combine talent with luck with connections with perseverance.

Oh, and this:


This was taken at a relative’s ocean front home. I wrote a novel based on her. It tanked. It’s on the Dead Manuscripts Shelf in my bedroom closet (featuring clothing of only the modern era). This house was razed long ago and some hideous giant “BEACH HOUSE” was built on its ghost. That doll was as old as the relative who died in 1985 at a very advanced age. Possibly it’s older. My mother didn’t want me to touch it but the relative allowed me too. She didn’t see the harm. I think she liked that someone liked it and wanted to give it attention. I wanted to both take it home with me and just live there with her and the doll, no parents, forever with the Atlantic as my backyard. I still do want that.

I’m suffering a strange prolonged mood these days. I can’t quite name it. Maybe it’s a combination between anxiety and ennui. Can you blend those two up and not be left with insanity? I’m going to find out.