Olivia's in a bitchy mood this morning. For that matter, so am I. I didn't even bother with the usual good morning, how are you;I just barged in and sat down to write. Why does she let me do this? Oh look, by the look on her face, I bet she's wondering the same thing. Maybe because we are the only two people we can trust. If she trusts me. I'm still not sure. Some days it seems like she cares, else why would she even still be here? If anybody could just walk off into the bush and survive the winter, I believe Olivia is one.
Why ARE you still here, Liv?
I did what she said, and had a good, long look in the motorhome mirror last night. Not the greatest light to be giving myself a vanity check, but I suspect the lantern light was a lot kinder to me than the cold light of day.
Big shadows under my eyes, and I look like I've lost a few pounds. Dark brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail (I'm glad I can't see the gray hairs, I'm sure they've multiplied); long sleeve, button-up shirt over a black tank; typical black pants. I look like what I grew up to be: librarian, mother, housewife.
Who did I used to be? Somebody other than this, that's for sure. When was the last time I even talked about anything other than Ed, the boys, or whatever book I read?
