It’s a Sign

The envelope was on the mantle.  The papers were in the envelope.  They sat up there, looking at me, for the past four months.  We had come to some sort of an agreement: I pretended they were not the inevitable answer to the question I was trying not to ask, they left my dreams undisturbed.

Until tonight.

Tonight, I came home and I opened the envelope and withdrew the papers.  A cockroach fell out. I screamed like a little girl, dropped the whole mess, and the cockroach (another one of my neighbors, I think) scurried under my big box of silk.  Or perhaps into my big box of silk.  I retrieved a big shoe and came back to kill it, and it had retreated to some unknown locale in my living room.

I think it’s a sign.  I just don’t know of what.  

I’m going to bed.  Today wore my little backside out.  

Maybe I’ll wash the rest of the dishes first.  

I hate effin cockroaches.

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It’s a Sign

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