I honestly don't remember

One crisis of faith later and here I am, back at it. I don't know what I'm writing and half of the stories I was writing, I don't remember. So, here, at the re-beginning of this blog, I have a decision to make. Start anew or refamiliarize myself with the outlines and finished chapters lost from memory. I'm leaning toward locking it all away for another time and starting a new adventure. One day they will find many unfinished works of mine -- some chapters long, many first chapters, and some only first pages, first paragraphs, first sentences. Maybe one day they'll serve as prompts for better stories written by much better writers. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I know I'll return to Sky Garden and I know I'll return to Lisa. However, for right now I'll start new. 'Cuz there's nothing better than starting a new adventure.

"I'm going on an adventure!" If only in my mind...

So here we go.

Once upon a time...

xP

"Does it bring me joy? Do I use it? Is it torn, broken or worn? Does it bring me joy?" Clemence muttered as she held up a sweater she had pulled from the large pile of clothes in front of her. She felt nothing toward the sweater. Neither like nor dislike. She was as indifferent to the sweater as she was to her life. The sweater represented who she used to be and if she were still that person she'd still love it. But she wasn't that person anymore. She looked around at the room, dropped the sweater on the floor and walked out into the living room. She sat down carefully on the antique furniture and closed her eyes.

She was alone in the house. Her husband was long gone. Her children grown and off to college. She was alone. A whole life still in front of her. When she had gotten pregnant at 15 everyone told her her life was over. Now here she was 35, perfectly free. Sure she had a dead end job, a crappy old house with six months left on the lease, and was paying half the twins' apartment... but she didn't have to do that.

Clemence pulled one of the 50 or so pocket notebooks scattered around her apartment from out of the coffee table. It was time for a list. Not a To-Do but a "pile", It was time to take stock of her life.

She scribbled at the top,

Does it bring me joy?

Things that don't bring me joy and what would dropping them would cost me?

1. Job at Phone Center > No money for rent, no money for girls' apartment

She glanced at the paintings hanging above Celia's piano. Three potraits. One of her and one of each of her daughters on either side. She continued to write,

2. Lease > No place to live

3. Minivan, car insurance, gas > No way to escape place I live

4. Health insurance > non-negotiable

5. CC bills > debt debt debt

She ripped the list from the notebook, stood and tucked the list into the frame of her self portrait. Returning to her room she began shoving the pile of clothes onto the floor. Once the bed was cleared she looked at the clothes strewn room, still indifferent. She plopped on the bed and switched on Netflix. Maybe Home Edit will work better for her.