I’ve been having visions of dying alone when I’m old, but not in the normal, sad story way. It’s a liberating image, passing away in my sleep with no fuss, no muss, no family spatting over how to take care of me, or fighting over who gets my stuff, or making me feel guilty for…
I wrote prolifically, pouring my soul onto paper through the tip of my pen, raw, unedited, fully exposed. From the chaos of my mind, feelings that ranged from optimistic and happy to angry and irrational and everything in between spilled onto page after page over the years. Some of my musings and rants became fodder…
