Memoirs

"This is so crazy I couldn't even write about in my memoirs..."

And I thought, it occurred to me, that it was true. I don't think I could even write about it in my memoirs. Because there would have to be such an explanation behind it and it still wouldn't make sense. It couldn't be articulated. Someone would either understand, relate, get it -- or they wouldn't. And, most of the time, I don't get it.

So instead, if someone were to look at my journal -- the one entitled, "A Woman's Journal" they would find all these poems, frantic quotes from movies, letters to no one in particular, it would be a mystery. Like Beethoven's, Immortal Beloved. Who the hell was that letter to? You know. Speculation abounds - but no one would know. Because it just wouldn't make sense. How the train is always two minutes too late. You answer the phone on the last ring, but the caller has already begun to put the receiver down.

to be continued...