I took four of the blue pills again. I woke up with a headache, not wanting to eat, but knowing I had to. Somehow I was awake and dressed in jeans that smelled like Club Charles, and I put on a fall looking shirt with a yellow sweater. I’ve been everywhere at Pickersgill today. I was going to come home and improve my legacy layouts, but I had the workshop to do, and of course I got caught up in that. We talked about charity, giving, I put up art for next week’s theme. Red Sweater read aloud about being an alcoholic- her son was a nightmare, and she had to have relief. I brought up the part in that Rolling Stones song where they sing about mama’s little helper. It’s a pill that women took in the 50’s to get off alcohol. Red Sweater doesn’t realize how prevalent alcoholism is in that generation. I feel like I want to tell her this.

Susan used to be a teacher while they were desegregating the schools, so she had like 5 poems. I read them out-loud in her room. We were sitting in her room and I was thinking about how nice it was that I was making a new connection. I feel so bad for her and Kathleen- they don’t see the flip side of being old. I was telling her this, something like “So you’re not young or totally energetic. The torture part is there- the pain, losing someone, losing your house. It’s the traumas that artists live for.” She seemed to hear this.


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