I am always promising myself to come back to this page; today I am keeping promises. Another promise I incessantly make to myself is to dispose of old journals. The last time I did it was 45 years ago, when I put my letters and journals on the sidewalk outside of my apartment. They disappeared quickly; it pleased me that someone found my writing worth reading. Today I’m putting my thoughts out on this figurative sidewalk. If anyone reads them I will feel hugely validated and much less alone than I do now at Deer Park independent living community. I feel so alone here, as if I have nothing in common with my fellow residents; actually we have everything in common: we are all in our eighties! I guess I am in denial about that – inwardly I am still slender, juicy and beautiful. The dumpling grandma I see every day in our mirrored dining room frightens me, drives me straight to the lavish pastry display. I never used to care about pastries at all; now I am obsessed with them, creeping nightly down my shadowy, chilly hall to the dining room for sugary midnight snacks. I’ve gained thirty pounds since I’ve been here. I am vocally indignant about this, as if somehow someone did this to me, when obviously I am creating this reality for myself.