Something About This Boat Screamed, "i Am

New Start Or Not, There Was A Line To Be Drawn, And That Line Was Singing Musicals To Yourself As Serious Psychological Motivation.

It Rang And It Rand And It Rang. I Looked At The Screen One Last Time, Then At Stuart, And Then I Reached My Arm Back And Threw The Phone As Hard As I Could (sadly, Not That Far), And It Vanished Into The Snow. The Eight-year-olds, Who Were Truly Fascinated With Our Every Move At This Point, Chased After It. 'lost It,' I Said. 'whoops.

You Can Never Visit The Same Place Twice. Each Time, It's A Different Story. By The Very Act Of Coming Back, You Wipe Out What Came Before.

No One Hid Their Interest When I Walked Into The Room. I'm Not Sure If It Was The News About Boo Or My General Appearance. At Home, People Would Have Asked. People Would Have Been Crawling All Over Me For Information. At Wexford, They Seemed To Extract What They Wanted To Know By Covert Staring.

I Try To Shake It Loose-but These Ideas, They Cling. It's Like I'm Shackled To Them With An Iron Chain. They Rattle Along Behind Me, Dragging Against The Ground, Always Reminding Me Of Their Presence.