life without me
I have been sorting through all kinds of stuff post pulling my life out of storage after three years of what essentially boils down to life on the road.
Sublet after sublet.
Everything in storage.
There are things here I do not even remember owning, let alone buying.
Sometimes they are nice. Like the CD laser cleaner that on a whim I stuck in the CD player and presto, the CD player works again. Well, sort of. It is tiffy about what it wants to play but if I pick something it likes it will play it.
[Hey, isn’t the CD player supposed to play what I want to play, not the other way around?]
I look at these photos of me with the dogs and I see another person. As if, with each animal I lost, I lost a piece of me. Until, I am not sure without the dogs exactly who I am any more. A woman without pets. Living without animals for the first time in sixteen years.
Sixteen years is a long time to live with animals and then suddenly be here, in this new and strange to me place, with nothing alive but me in the room.
And I see myself with those animals and I think, Ah Loke.
And then I think, Ah Max.
Because that is a me I remember being, but I am not quite her any more.
I miss the dogs.