January 3, 1991.

I am in a cottage. I lie close to the windowsill reading.
There's a lot going on in this cottage. A lot of people. It's
winter and it's cold.

There's a funeral. A baby is in a casket. I am sort of kneeling
in front of it with a bunch of children. I press my head against
the casket while wondering whether or not I should start crying
out loud. I would be like the official mourner. I make the
crying sounds inside my head to practise. I look around in the
room and wonder if they will find me stupid if I mourn out loud.
It's not really my choice. It's my function.

The funeral scene changes. Denis, Josee and I are discussing
Rosemarin's calss. We will be tested on what she has said but I
was reading at the windowsill when she was giving her lecture.
I'm done for I think. Denis and Josee decide we are going to
Spain together. I think it's crazy. I am too old I think I
would be going on a different trip then them. I would be
reliving my first trip to Spain and it can't be done. In my
head, however, I think they're not so young anymore either. Even
Josee must be close to 25.

A am doing laundry with my brother-in-law. We fill up the
laundry tub to the point we have to strap down the lid to keep it
closed. A piece of clothing sticks out of the lid and I am going
to put it back in the tub but Bernie says no. He insists it is
better if it sticks out. It drives me mad. It should be in the
washing machine with all the rest. My lips get very wet. I feel
very sensual.


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