lately i have been realizing that i have been living in other peoples lives.
not such a profound discovery ay.
from 1980 roughly I have been living with bruce.
living in a house he built for himself basically.
yes i participated in it.
he opened his life and invited me in.
i walked in and stayed.
he got ill.
he knew it.
i knew it.
but no doctors knew it.
he fell so many times.
the day my dog died i drank wine and fell asleep from my emotional sadness.
i woke hearing him call me and he was on his knees with the back door open in december.
he fell but could not stand himself up.
he could have frozen to death.
when i write this all the memories come back ten times and fill my body with such intense sadness.
it was so terrible what happened to him so absolutely incredibly terribly unjustifiably horrible what happened to him.
i lived in the hospital with him.
i lived in my mothers house from april 2009 to august 2011 when she died.
i then lived in her memories and lived in his room at the home till he died october 2 2012.
i continued to live in my mothers house till june 2014.
now i live in my sister in laws house.
am i a chameleon? is that what my life is?
have i traveled all this way, waking up everyday of my life to finally realize that i have not been creating my own life?
who am i?
i do know that i am an artist that is the one thing that i do know.
perhaps that is where i should start.
january 10 2015