there is an old woman who lives in your house when you’re not there. not just when you’re on vacation or at work, but also when you’re simply asleep. asleep, your consciousness is in another state, a different place, and then again the old woman lives in your house. and sometimes, when your attention is merely wandering, when you’re sitting at the kitchen table over a hot cup of coffee daydreaming about the secret sex lives of daisies, sometimes if your attention snaps back to the here and now fast enough, you might catch a glimpse of her. but you’ll never actually see her, the old woman who lives in your house when you’re not there. you’ll never speak to her, or even catch so much as a lingering whiff of her lilac perfume. because she only lives in your house when you’re not there, and when you’re not there, it’s not your house. it’s not your wallpaper that she changes. it’s not your dinner that she cooks. it’s not your affirmations that she posts beside the bathroom mirror, or your mail that she opens. except sometimes she forgets, and it is.