With
her house intimately decorated as a shrine to her married
life, her next thought inevitably leapt to what new project
she could attend to next. Each tabletop, nook, surface
area was decorated with a remembrance, a sentiment, or
a whimsy. The process occupied her time; she decorated
as an extension of herself. Would the husband notice?
He was at the office job, and the domestic duties were
her job. She could not sleep at night unless the dishes
were washed up. It is a perfect, charmed life. She cried
while folding laundry. She wore her nightgown all day.
Would the husband even notice if any dust collected in
the corners. She left the house locked tight; she ran
until she lost her breath. She returned in the evening
no worse for wear and perhaps a little better. The house
was her home afterall, and a home is hard to leave behind.
Please click photograph for larger image. |
Photography
by M Patrick
Words by Matthew Patrick, January 2000 |
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