I Sighed. "what Is Life But Fleeting

People Get Sick And Sometimes They Get Better And Sometimes They Don't. And It Doesn't Matter If The Sickness Is Cancer Or If It's Depression. Sometimes The Drugs Work And Sometimes They Don't. Sometimes The Drugs Work For A While And Then They Stop. Sometimes The Alternative Stuff Works And Sometimes It Doesn't. And Sometimes You Wonder If No Outside Interference Makes Any Difference At All; If An Illness Is Like A Storm, If It Simply Has To Run Its Course And, At The End Of It, Depending On How Robust You Are, You Will Be Alive. Or You Will Be Dead.

The Back Windows Looked Out Over The Fields, Then The Atlantic, Maybe A Hundred Yards Away. Actually, I'm Just Making That Bit Up. I Had No Idea How Far Away The Sea Was. Only Men Could Do Things Like That. "half A Mile." "fifty Yards." Giving Directions, That Sort Of Thing. I Could Look At A Woman And Say "thirty-six C." Or "let's Try It In The Next Size Up." But I Had No Idea How Far Away Tim's Sea Was Except That I Wouldn't Want To Walk To It In High Heels.

In An Unpredictable And Unpleasant World It Was Both Unusual And Very Pleasant To Hear What I Wanted To Hear.

For Feel-good Fiction To Work, There Has To Be An Element Of Darkness.

Besides, I'd Seen A Really Nice Pair Of Shoes Yesterday In The Mall And I Wanted Them For My Own. I Can't Describe The Feeling Of Immediate Familiarity That Rushed Between Us. The Moment I Clapped Eyes On Them I Felt Like I Already Owned Them. I Could Only Suppose That We Were Together In A Former Life. That They Were My Shoes When I Was A Serving Maid In Medieval Britain Or When I Was A Princess In Ancient Egypt. Or Perhaps They Were The Princess And I Was The Shoes. Who's To Know? Either Way I Knew That We Were Meant To Be Together.