I feel like a prisoner of my own body, my home.
The paint is peeling, the roof leaks, there's
a few loose shingles. Some of the windows have
broken window panes. The lawn is grown tall and
the weeds are taking over. The doorbell rings
only on Sunday when a male acquaintance drops
by. Seldom ever does the telephone ring. When
the phone rings, it's usually a return call I've
placed.
From my journaling in Michigan.
Copyright © 1989 Carolyn Bigler
aka Moonlight Flower
Ironically, I purchased a home in 1990
and it fit this description.
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