I Hate Desks; They Make Me Feel

My Mother Was Wonderfully Out About Her Dementia. She Would Sort Of - She Would Say To Me, I Came Out To The Window Cleaner About Having Dementia. You Know, I Love The Way That Verb For Coming Out Of The Closet Has Now Become So Socially Useful For All Sorts Of Situations, Like When You Need To Explain To The Window Cleaner That You Don't Know If You Paid Him Or Not.

We're Standing On The Deck That's All Wooden Like The Deck Of A Ship. There's Fuzz On It, Little Bundles. Grandma Says It's Some Kind Of Pollen From A Tree. "which One?" I'm Staring Up At All The Differents. "can't Help You There, I'm Afraid." In Room We Knowed What Everything Was Called But In The World There's So Much, Persons Don't Even Know The Names.

I Actually Tried To Think Of The Story [room] In Gender-neutral Terms At First And Said To Myself, "ok, Would This Work If It Were A Man?" Well No, You Can't Make A Man Pregnant, So It's Got To Be A Woman.

I Think I Know What It's Like To Have A Family That The Outside World Sees As Peculiar Or Lacking.

We Used To Call It Her Cinderella Complex, Because Often When She Had Agreed To Go Out In The Evening She Would Be Seized By Panic And Announce That She Had Nothing To Wear.