hasn’t come a woman on herown they think they can do anything how despicable people are when you’re down they stamp on you. I kick back I keep my end up but a woman alone is spat on. The concierge gives a dirty laugh. At ten in the morning it is
in concordance with the law
to have the radio on: if he thinks I’m impressed by his long words, I had them on the telephone four nights running they knew it was me but impossible to pin it I laughed and laughed: they’ve coped by having calls stopped I’ll find something else. What? Drips like that sleep at night work all day go for a walk on Sunday there’s nothing you can get a hold on. A man under my roof. The plumber would have come the concierge would say good day politely the neighbors would turn the volume down. Bloody hell, I want to be treated with respect I want my husband my son my home like everybody else.
A little boy of eleven it would be fun to take him to the circus to the zoo. I’d train him right away. He was easier to handle than Sylvie. She was a tough one to cope with soft and cunning like that slug Albert. Oh, I don’t hold it against her poor little creep they all put her against me and she was at the age when girls loathe their mothers they call that ambivalence but it’s hatred. There’s another of those truths that make them mad. Etiennette dripped with fury when I told her to look at Claudie’s diary. She didn’t want to look, like those women who don’t go to the doctor because they’re afraid of having cancer so you’re still the dear little mama of a dear little daughter. Sylvie was not a dear little anything I had a dose of that when I read her diary: but as for me I look things straight in the face. I didn’t let it worry me all that much I knew all I had to do was wait and one day she would understand andshe would say I was the one who was in the right and not them and cram it down their throats. I was patient never did I raise a hand against her. I took care of myself of course. I told her, “You won’t get me down.” Obstinate as a mule whining for hours on end days on end over a whim there wasn’t the slightest reason for her to see Tristan again. A girl needs a father I ought to know if anybody does: but nobody’s ever said she needs two. Albert was quite enough of a nuisance already he was taking everything the law allowed him and more I had to struggle every inch of the way he’d have corrupted her if I hadn’t fought. The frocks he gave her it was immoral. I didn’t want my daughter to turn into a whore like my mother. Skirts up to her knees at seventy paint all over her face! When I passed her in the street the other day I crossed over to the other sidewalk. With her strutting along like that what a fool I should have looked if she had put on the great reconciliation act. I’m sure her place is as squalid as ever with the cash she flings away at the hairdresser’s she could afford herself a cleaning woman.
No more horns blowing I preferred that row to hearing them roaring and bellowing in the street: car doors slamming they shout they laugh some of them are singing they are drunk already and upstairs that racket goes on. They’re making me ill there’s a foul taste in my mouth and these two little pimples on my thigh they horrify me. I take care I only eat health foods but even so there are people who muck about with them hands more or less clean there’s no hygiene anywhere in the world the air is polluted not only because of the cars and the factories but also these millions of filthy mouths swallowing it in and belching it out from morning till night: when I think I’m swimmingin their breath I feel like rushing off into the very middle of the desert: how can you keep your body clean in such a lousy disgusting world you’re contaminated through all the pores of your skin and yet I was healthy clean I can’t bear them infecting me. If I had to go to bed there’s not one of them that would move a finger to
in concordance with the law
to have the radio on: if he thinks I’m impressed by his long words, I had them on the telephone four nights running they knew it was me but impossible to pin it I laughed and laughed: they’ve coped by having calls stopped I’ll find something else. What? Drips like that sleep at night work all day go for a walk on Sunday there’s nothing you can get a hold on. A man under my roof. The plumber would have come the concierge would say good day politely the neighbors would turn the volume down. Bloody hell, I want to be treated with respect I want my husband my son my home like everybody else.
A little boy of eleven it would be fun to take him to the circus to the zoo. I’d train him right away. He was easier to handle than Sylvie. She was a tough one to cope with soft and cunning like that slug Albert. Oh, I don’t hold it against her poor little creep they all put her against me and she was at the age when girls loathe their mothers they call that ambivalence but it’s hatred. There’s another of those truths that make them mad. Etiennette dripped with fury when I told her to look at Claudie’s diary. She didn’t want to look, like those women who don’t go to the doctor because they’re afraid of having cancer so you’re still the dear little mama of a dear little daughter. Sylvie was not a dear little anything I had a dose of that when I read her diary: but as for me I look things straight in the face. I didn’t let it worry me all that much I knew all I had to do was wait and one day she would understand andshe would say I was the one who was in the right and not them and cram it down their throats. I was patient never did I raise a hand against her. I took care of myself of course. I told her, “You won’t get me down.” Obstinate as a mule whining for hours on end days on end over a whim there wasn’t the slightest reason for her to see Tristan again. A girl needs a father I ought to know if anybody does: but nobody’s ever said she needs two. Albert was quite enough of a nuisance already he was taking everything the law allowed him and more I had to struggle every inch of the way he’d have corrupted her if I hadn’t fought. The frocks he gave her it was immoral. I didn’t want my daughter to turn into a whore like my mother. Skirts up to her knees at seventy paint all over her face! When I passed her in the street the other day I crossed over to the other sidewalk. With her strutting along like that what a fool I should have looked if she had put on the great reconciliation act. I’m sure her place is as squalid as ever with the cash she flings away at the hairdresser’s she could afford herself a cleaning woman.
No more horns blowing I preferred that row to hearing them roaring and bellowing in the street: car doors slamming they shout they laugh some of them are singing they are drunk already and upstairs that racket goes on. They’re making me ill there’s a foul taste in my mouth and these two little pimples on my thigh they horrify me. I take care I only eat health foods but even so there are people who muck about with them hands more or less clean there’s no hygiene anywhere in the world the air is polluted not only because of the cars and the factories but also these millions of filthy mouths swallowing it in and belching it out from morning till night: when I think I’m swimmingin their breath I feel like rushing off into the very middle of the desert: how can you keep your body clean in such a lousy disgusting world you’re contaminated through all the pores of your skin and yet I was healthy clean I can’t bear them infecting me. If I had to go to bed there’s not one of them that would move a finger to
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