I took a programming class in college and have had this inside joke url ever since
First, I needed to ask a question, before I could get any answers. I thought about that for a moment. “. . . Where should I live?” I asked her.
She placed her pajamaed arms on the coffee table and examined the cards.
“This one says you should never live in a palace, or a castle,” she said. “And this card says . . . don’t trust anyone. And this one says you should remember to take a bath and use shampoo. And this one says, just go someplace, and when you get there, tell someone.”
How strange it is, the first time you put your mother’s sock on for her, tie her shoe. You came here to do these things, knew they were coming — had envisioned this very act, even — but still it surprises you. The world shifts. You roll up the cotton sock and within it is her vulnerability, which you don’t like to think of as her (oh god) mortality, which you don’t like to associate with your own (oh god) mortality. You’re tiny at her feet like a child, tightening the laces, bunny ears through bunny ears. A little looser, she says. There we go. Perfect. How quickly it becomes ordinary, just another thing to do before you leave the house together.
