Right now just trying to make it through the week. I
remember
a
little
of
what
happened
yesterday. I woke up early again after a night of dreams and wanted to write them down.
I
couldn't
find
this
book
and
searched the living room for a pen and paper: I could only find an old pad of sheet music and only a few pages. I got it in my head to write everything in order so I took the eleven pages that were left in the
notebook
and
tore
them
into
eight
pages and laid them out on the kitchen table. It looked like I might have left some olive oil on the table so some bled through. I tried to clean it off and lay them out. I started to write down all of the years of my life in order and had begun with 1872. But then I began to think my mother was wrong that maybe it was 1871 or maybe I could have been wrong this whole time and I will just be 87 in December. I tried not to think about it but laid out the sheets with dates and some of the facts I could remember. But a window was
a
through,
little and
open began
and to
167
a
breeze
blow
the
came sheets