Where is this in aid of and why have I written this book? It is a small piece of biography about a woman who lived in time and place and lost ties and places to visit. I am sorry to matter so little to anyone that even a little of me goes a long way. I do believe that my behaviour has not been nice to anyone and making haste to end this novel is one sure way of winning friends and making enemies go away too.
Is it the tragedies of life that now people live too long? Everyone out to grab whatever they can that is part of living but now peopled with people over eighty doing the things in their homes which might have worked years back but now they are cruel and insane and youth is eaten with the looking after the old. What right does mum have to take everything I have? I cherish the little I have but she seems to be dead set against me having any life. She seems to be draining me as if I will be a cup as she breaks the cups and things and tells me too late that the medicine that Susie depends on to make her life bearable is now finished the last drop of life seems to drain out of me into the cups and kettle as she says she has filled the kettle and leaves the lid open for me to boil my hands. She seems to want to cause as much mischief as she can. She says nothing but hateful words about sister doing a course when I try to read a book she is outside in the corridor loudly proclaiming that she is talking about facts of yesterday with the sis who hates me as much as she does.
They have ganged up on me trying to destroy my reason as if my reason deserting this ship would make them richer. How would it make their lives any pleasanter any more worthwhile any more bearable? What would it give them to have me inside some crazy situation without a marble to my name? What is the justice in looking after someone who does that entire one can’t leave because there is no money? Trapped in this situation forever it seems I am 52 and still because of issues of mental ill health I am to be trapped even more so.