Wednesday, December 10, 2008
cleaned up a bit. That is my goal, to get rid of the piles of books and papers, magazines, general reading materials that seem to collect over the year all over the house (before the Christmas stuff is unleashed, flying down the stairs to cover every surface . . .).
I never understood my mother's drive to give things away—until now. I look around, and can't imagine why I've accumulated all this stuff.
I want to strip everything away, and live nunlike in a white-washed cell, with a slim volume of prayers by my bed; a candle. A voluminous white nightgown and a shorn head, the breeze through a tall window, high up in the wall. The toll of a bell my only timekeeper.