2019-09-14 - Lonely but never really alone.

I come back to myself and am washing my hands again. The face in the medicine cabinet mirror is mine, the hands with water running over them are mine, the thoughts in my head are mine. I am mine again.

For now.

It's lonely.

I wonder why he washes my hands so much. We never touch anyone. It makes me laugh to think about it, but he hasn't touched anything since before I was born, yet he's always washing my hands. Sometimes, I think he and Marge would have gotten along better than he and I do. They have a lot in common, including this irritating need to be clean to the point of sanitization.

It's nice sometimes, though, to have someone so organized. I step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom and find Marge moving through the room with her housekeeper. They're talking about packing my things. They're talking about it like I'm not here. They probably don't realize I'm paying attention.

So I let them continue to think I'm not me right now. I pour myself a drink, and I collapse into bed, listening to them make plans for the rest of my life.

I'll have to go away soon. Marge and I already had that conversation. It makes me sigh sometimes, but then I think...

I let a dead man make me kill my own son.

I would want me gone.