Who Am I?

"Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up." Psalm 71:20

I whisper this verse over and over in the backseat of my car service, riding through the quiet streets of East Harlem. I catch a reflection of my weary eyes. And close them immediately. I'm beat.

I've called my tenants five times, sent one letter, and typed three texts since rent turned up late this month. Correction, didn't turn up. They've responded nil.

Our bank account reads huge goose eggs just in time for Easter...

I held my cool as long as I could after my good ole boy lawyer criticized my character for the final time and then I let the four years of seeping sour gall in my sick stomach rise up to my mouth and spray all over his $420 an hour pushing paper self.

I signed my name to an agreement that gags me from every speaking about the illegalities and atrocities committed by Wachovia Bank to me which has robbed a piece of my happiness and made it unimaginable to live in the present.

One of the few lasting moments of Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland is when the quite believable, slightly deranged, but so endearing Mad Hatter presses on Alice if indeed she is the real Alice? As the real Alice was much more muchy, you've lost your muchiness..."

This was a dagger in my broken heart as it hit home...hard.

I swear I used to be more fun.

Is this the fate of our progressing years?