I’m finally reading my godmother Claudia Blacks bestselling book from the 80s, “It will never happen to me”. I don’t suppose I was ready for it before but I somehow feel it was written for me.
Me. A steamer. A stack of books in the corner at powells. But this book is it, and maybe my dad knew and cursed me with her name….or blessed I’m not sure it’s a strong dilineation.
“Forgiving is not forgetting. It is remembering and letting go.”
But if I ever do have a daughter I’m going to name her for herself alone and no one else…
I was so lost, sad and lonely in my childhood I was in too much denial to see straight. All my strength was just a reflection of my own dad’s fierce, controlling magnetism. Sometimes I feel haunted, and terribly Aline. But the confinement is all but dead. There is hope and air; I’m ready to make my own life great… Greatly my own, even if it’s just my little independent film.