Did I ever tell you about the time I wanted to join a convent?
Facebook has finally danced through almost every one of my tolerance levels. Today it slow-waltzed its stinking arse all the way up and down the ‘frustrating shitshow’ category on my dial, so I’m shuffling back over here to my quiet corner.
“I’m a friend of Violet’s. Can you help me?” you ask.
With no sign of anyone around, you call out.
You make up your mind quickly: You opt to explore the kitchen.
Quite the convenient recap.
You walk over to the bed.
You look towards the stairs to the ground floor, before turning into the main bedroom.
“What can I do to help?” you ask.
You leave the attic, closing the door behind you, and descend the stairs to the landing.
“Who is ‘Mother’?”
“What does ‘renewal’ entail?”