Dissolved in Water

A work in progress?-- Trudy Richardson, being diffident while Karina was being obstinate in 2014

You may laugh: I cannot find my fiction file with my hard drafts, and I have no idea where "Jawbone" is sitting. I remember the story, and as I've previously indicated, I have the first seven pages, but for all its weaknesses, which I wanted to revise, it was one of my favorite fictions. And I'm furious, with ambulatory persons not respecting that as a writer I horde articles and facts and drafts. Karina didn't respect it, nor my father's dead mother, nor any African American attendant (hissed). One of my younger aides, who works for a dentist, if social media is any indicator-- I-- ah, it came back, Lakisha Doe. I fired Kisha twice, not before before mother's mother took her to lunch-- but she bought me a huge heavy plastic storage bin. It may be there. It may be under the desk. I threw out the entire Cigna Medicare Part D prescription plan from welfare. I threw out half of the United States Postal Service, which Speaker Ryan may want to close, and my poor female, the one getting the short end of the stick, in my peevish old age, as yes, I am old, I mean this in a variety of ways, is all excited, lively, playing with wheelchair parts. Mom, what is going on?
My accumulations kimmy, things that mattered to me, have to be dictated by the government as forbidden, or discarded, and it just isn't enough, brain damage, a life of recoiled pain, people who walk have to dictate which markers even indicate that a quadriplegic once aspired and existed. The little girl is on my thigh, needy, alone, no babies to attend, as her litter was destroyed, and no more Vinnie to quarrel with; he was destroyed. She is a good girl, but I am no longer the good mother, I'm now too poor for that, a world away from the six thousand I still had when I fought my conscience, paid her adoption fees, donated to the shelter in Joey's name. I have to rest, work from memory but basically now rewriting, but I will assert this. Do not tell me not to hate. Writing, above all else, is the only thing I ever had transcending all else. Trudy can have the police break my wrists dragging me out of the building, but I swear to Christ, I'll take her job with me if I have to before anyone ever railroads my life again while I still breathe, while I yet cognate.