My brain needs words to be written, but I can't think of what to write.
Gloria called. Gloria = birthmom. She called to wish me a happy belated birthday. It was 4pm on a Thursday afternoon (weeks after my birthday) and she was drinking. Drunk by the time we actually spoke on the phone. I want to be ok with this. I want to believe myself when I say it's not my problem.
I'm not. I don't.
Apparently, those are all the words I can muster.
No comments:
Post a Comment