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the walls of rehab are thick. you cant hear the sounds of the italian couple quarreling next door to me outside in the garden. at least, i hope not.

‘they built a wall in china, it’s a thousand miles long, to keep out the foreigners that made it strong. I ve got a wall around me that you cant even see….’

Usual teenage rant, for me: ‘I cant bear being inside these four walls!’ how could I expect my parents to understand? My father was hardly ever home anyway.

my mother will never admit to asking me not to go to my teaching job in brazil. fair enough, they had put her on medication at the time that was making her very depressed. in fact, the pills had a suicide warning that the doctor forgot to mention. i dont mind staying around to see her get better. i just wonder if i did enough. its good to see her happy these days, but now that dad lost his job they have other worries.

i dont really waste my time with ‘what if’. i could still go to brazil, if i wanted to.

right?

its such a pity the world has made us both crazy mammy

every day is a kaleidoscope. whirling, patterns, wonder.

in maury road i painted the bottom half of a wall dark green. racing green. i still love that colour. in the corner near the window i painted a yin-yang and an 8-ball and checkerboard. when dave came we painted our lips and kissed the wall, discussed the results, a prim pucker, or a full and open mouth. i drew toadstools with wax crayons. blue stars. Orange.. oranges. Sometimes I can be very literal.

random art on the walls of 111: tim burton s oysterboy, in his halloween finest. flowers made from scraps of felt. ‘i dont miss you i m glad you left but i miss your dog’ written in pe

rmanent marker in cursive.

i havent painted anything on my walls here in rehab yet. i havent even taken the sitex off the window.