March 1st: caught between winter and spring. Sunny, cloudy, windy, rainy, all at once. The day I expected my daffodils to bloom, my chocolate cake to be served, my new toys to be unwrapped.
March 1st: my birthday.

But you'll visit one day, won't you?

Many years ago, on Valentine’s Day, I discovered that some of the strange glances men directed my way weren't meant to mock, but to show unfiltered interest.

If you had seen it, you would know why I chose it for us.

One of the best purchases I made in my youth was a tiny family crypt in Cedar Hill Cemetery. In time, it will become the place where I will face east forever, lovingly cradled by oaks and cedars and pines and the presence of my dear brother resting right beside me.

He has a new client here, I’ve been told. That would explain the voices I heard yesterday morning, when all I could do was bask in the fantasy of him. One would expect to be notified of such a thing: I could’ve shifted closer, listened more carefully, loved a little less madly.

Everyone accepted the attire I provided, as was expected of every member of my support staff. The ladies, in particular, were especially enthusiastic about the arrangement.

Sometimes my dreams take the shape of my secretaries’ slender calves, mirages of whiteness twisting under the blue skirts I used to dress them in. Not my favorite dolls, but the ones I found easiest to play with.

Beneath all that plastic leather, silver jewelry and costume gemstones, runny kajal and a loyal cirrus of hairspray and cologne, my brother’s beauty lies untouched, as I remember it, as it was before he ruined it, perhaps to hurt me, perhaps to hurt himself.

The community of readers here is quite small. When assistance is needed at the return desk, it is usually my own returns I handle. I process them myself, print and file the new requests and approve them as needed.
(You can see one of my recent favorite books on top of the pile.)

Ah, I see. You’re so worried about losing your soon-to-be husband to me that you’d rather prevent him from visiting than try to be better than me.

That would be an excellent way to agitate a man who is attempting to disengage from disruptive behaviors. But you could still test it and see what happens.

+ Were I supplied with these necessities, my compulsions would remain confined to the privacy of my cell… for a while.

+ notebooks (sufficient for one month of writing) and ink for the stamp.
- A fine-tooth comb, dental floss, unscented lotion for dry and sensitive skin, a new mirror that shows my face correctly.
- Unlimited phone time during PM hours.
- Unlimited outdoor time during AM hours.
- A second chair. +

To be ordered to my cell:
– A bimonthly delivery of narrative books: new releases, brand new, white paper bricks, with a custom ex libris stamp reading “Krisler D.” and a subscription to Japanifornia Law Today.
– A set of pens, ready to use; any shade of black or blue preferred. Four composition +

Getting me imprisoned with that trick of yours, me of all men you could have ruined, does NOT make it simple for me to move on, not when all I can do is think (about you) and wait (for you, and eventually for my end, by your hands, or your end, by mine).

All these years of the same old serenade, and I still surprise you.

The sweet little treat that is you.

Yet it feels sour and I know the reason: my favorite is missing again, as it was last year and the year before.

They are indeed. They were distributed by church volunteers.

Remember, he’s just a kid.

Once again, the child on the Naughty List (for life, beyond appeal) gets candies for Christmas: not what he asked for, though evidently his conduct has not yet justified coal.

"Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him."

Reading new-old books under a sun that fails to heal the strange flu that has soaked into my bones.

"We did! Your father proposed to me the other day."

I‘m getting married!! 💕💘💝💗💖

I would not. You wouldn't be struggling enough for me to enjoy it.

... You're not one of such things.

Some things appear prettier when exanimate.

I hardly ever saw you spending money on anything other than food. What is it now? Electric bills?

Collecting a payment can be such a thrilling experience when you're not used to it.