I was picked up to babysit my grandson for a few days. When babysitting, there’s no time for sitting down at my computer and writing.
I’m back in Oklahoma tonight. It’s quiet. I hoped to catch up on my writing.
But I can’t.
My computer cord wasn’t charging my battery. I checked the cord, I found a small slit in it and the cord was hot.
I have two cords. This one is ruined. The other one ??
The other cord is not here. I remember picking my things up and packing them in my bag.
So “Where’s my second cord?”
I live a pretty controversial life. Not by choice. But openly handed to my via platter. Was my cord conveniently removed to prevent me from writing this very controversial account of the past years?
What I’m writing is challenging for me, but I have to give accountability where it deserves. I’ve been through unnecessary stress that most do not go through. Downslide after downslide. I’m not writing this book for anyone’s benefit but my own.
Nothing surprises me anymore. Is really what I want to say.
It’s my understanding without a known name, no one will care to read my story. But weren’t knowns unknown at one time, too?
My car was wrecked in a multi-car accident in August twenty-twenty, that I received no payment for, as of yet. Tomorrow, I’ll have to ride my bike or walk across town to buy a new cord. I’m fifty-six. A grandmother. This is crazy.
Had I spent years snorting cocaine behind a trash receptacle in an alley? I would feel better about this. If I had dumped my daughters and partied our cash away, starving them, leaving them with no support? I’d be fine with my economic status.
Nothing surprises me, anymore. That’s an understatement.