Normally the clouds pile like pillows over the mountains with a dome of blue overhead. Not today. The sky was a bowl of cotton banded by an edge of blue.
Here in Pillville the daughter was the mother and the mother was the daughter. Everything out of whack and ugly. Back to the doctor for follow up on the cellulitis lump which once again is MRSA. Antibiotics and anti-nausea. I am anti-everything.
I'm in charge of the clean dishes and the clean laundry, I pleaded and then screamed a half-dozen times today as I sprayed my kitchen counters with Clorox. I took away the towels and replaced them with anti-environmental rolls of paper towels.
All the house guests have gone away, and if I had a hazmat suit, I'd wear it. I am anti-skin, anti-mucus, anti-pus, anti-refrigerator door handle.
The house is empty. So is the bottle of champagne. So is the spot where my mother's magnifying mirror stood. But the sunset was bursting.
