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she had set up a place a long time ago in the side room - the bedroom - of her expensive studio considered a one-bedroom. for the first time, during the day, Edith was not in the main room and chose to sit in this spot.
(at the old house, I would have called it her "willow's bed" - the place where she would go to chill in the 4000 square foot palace I didn't know I had until I lost.)
by turns, she was thrilled that edith was comfortable enough to be apart from her. She was and had been worried about the upcoming trip. and then her other next thought was "what if she's sick and dying and this is all because I was so horribly worried about paying for her."
(Living in my brain is a trip. And I've gotten everything I've ever asked for: an apartment with a lot of books, one friend in town, loads of down time, and solitude. The thing I don't really have much of is fuel.)
She finds the apartment stunning if dark and tiny. She envies moving trucks when she sees them. And today? this Friday - the Ides of March - it was quiet. She never thought she would complain about the silence - the looming empty silence - yet, she does. She also never wears skirts anymore, has short hair, and lost so much.
The hair and safety net will grow.
She used to berate the cat "why are you always looking at me, judging me. I'm lost right now. I can't comfort you. It's going to be better later when we move."
Now that the cat is in the other room, and it's empty in the main room, she recognizes.
The life is the cat.
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