Something terrible has been happening in the past few weeks. The Barbadian woman has come back. And, for the first time, I don't have Cliff anymore to fend her off.
I have nothing to keep her at bay, and I don't really know what's going to happen.
'Time sliding irrevocably into the past.'
There are moments in these last days I can actually see the Dunraven house's interior in the mirrors of this one. It's insane. But it's interesting the juxtaposition of the two places, and how I can very firmly assert myself as the owner here; this is my house, and there is no space here over which I do not have some measure of influence. I am the mother, the adult. This is Gillywimpis, instead of a space in which I merely existed.
But there are instants where I can't determine which place I'm at. It passes almost immediately, but it's still jarring. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be recalling something significant, if it's a by-product of getting another year older, or if I'm just losing a little more of my mind.
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