[b]Mary Kubica
I know how betrayal and disillusionment feel, when someone who could give you the world refuses even a tiny piece of it.[/b]
And then [as often as not] blames you for it.
Momma used to say, “We don’t have much, but at least we have each other.” And then one day, we didn’t even have that much.
Thank God for Heaven then, right?
I love the quietness of the library, the gateway to knowledge, to the French language and medieval history and hydraulic engineering and fairy tales, learning in a very primitive form: books, something that’s quickly giving way to modern technology.
And then on to postmodern technology. To this shit.
As it was, being a bad mother was child’s play compared to being a good mother, which was an incessant struggle, a lose-lose situation 24 hours a day; long after the kids were in bed the torment of what I did or didn’t do during those hours we were trapped together would scourge my soul.
You know, if you let it.
We fall into oblivion this way, into a world where nothing matters. Nothing but us.
You know, if they let us.
The weathermen warn us for days of the impending snowstorm that’s to arrive Thursday night. The grocery stores have run out of bottle water as people prepare to take shelter in their homes; my God, I think, it’s winter, an annual certainty, not the atomic bomb.
Cue the Eyewitless News team here!