November 22, 2010:

The rooms are large and dark, decorated with indoor trees so that the space as a whole feels like a substantial arboretum. You're surprised to find the television on. Is your mother home? Or has she left the set powered up by mistake? In the next room the television is also on, and the next. You find her in a room like an indoor gazebo, drinking coffee with a small girl whose eyes are as big as a Walter Keane painting. You don't catch everything your mother says. Something about John. "Who's John?", you ask, but she answers a different question. "No, who's John?", you ask, but she answers a different question. "Who the fuck is John?", but she rolls her eyes and ignores you. "That's it," you say, exasperated. "I'm outta here." She just laughs.