I’ll tell you one thing: nothing is more satisfying than being alone.
It poses a problem in love and friendship and plain living, but here it is anyway. Whether or not this existed before my mother’s death is unknown, but in these moments of solitude I can dare to be me. I can kick off my shoes and talk to my plants and mold my hair into strange new positions.
I can call out are you there and maybe my mother will whisper duh.
I’ll tell you another thing: she isn’t going to whisper if there’s anyone else hanging around.