Bookmarker is a personal project by @dellsystem to help with retaining reading material. Source on GitHub.

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You edited a note
8 months, 4 weeks ago

shut the door on grief on regret on remorse topic/grief

I don’t know why I even brought this up. Magpies flash now blue, green against the snow. They have a similar bossy shriek. Of course I could get a book or call somebody and find out about the nesting habits of crows. But what bothers me is that I only accidentally noticed them. What else have I mis…

—p.389 A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories Homing (388) by Lucia Berlin
You edited a note
8 months, 4 weeks ago

but there’s never enough time topic/grief topic/growing-older

It has been seven years since you died. Of course what I’ll say next is that time has flown by. I got old. All of a sudden, de repente. I walk with difficulty. I even drool. I leave the door unlocked in case I die in my sleep, but it’s more likely I’ll go endlessly on until I get put away someplace…

—p.386 Wait a Minute (380) by Lucia Berlin
You edited a note
8 months, 4 weeks ago

first I had to think I wasn’t hopeless topic/addiction

“True,” Mrs. Bevins said. “People are always saying ‘tell the truth’ when you write. Actually it is hard to lie. The assignment seems silly … a stump. But this is deeply felt. I see an alcoholic who is sick and tired. This stump is how I would have described myself before I stopped drinking.”

“H…

—p.370 Here It Is Saturday (363) by Lucia Berlin
You edited a note
8 months, 4 weeks ago

I missed Watergate, thank God topic/the-passage-of-time

Out on the street I’d run into him sometimes. He’d always give me money, which was awkward, but I was out there panhandling, so I never said no. We’d sit on a bus stop bench and talk. CD’s read more than I have by now. He’s twenty-two. I’m thirty-two but people always figure I’m a lot older. I feel…

—p.365 Here It Is Saturday (363) by Lucia Berlin
You edited a note
8 months, 4 weeks ago

she has nobody to tell her anything at all inspo/characterisation

She holds him like a potato sack. The expression on her face says, “Where does this sack go?” It occurs to me that she has nobody to tell her anything at all.

—p.336 Mijito (333) by Lucia Berlin