Oh, the funny thing about that free write is that while i was writing, i became obsessively revisited by a short story by Dorothy Parker called Big Blonde, which i started loving one day when i was fifteen and very upset about something. The big blonde is ransacked by her weasely impotant husband, and when he leaves her, she takes up with men in the building after long pungent games of poker. Though ever-weepy, she is always happy to see them stay and never sorry to see them go. Eventually she tries to take her life with sleeping pills, but she just can't die, and the ambulance man remarks that it would take "more than an axe to split that one in two". (Or something, dont trust those quotes.)

I guess im still affected by this story because i got terribly involved in that free write, can you tell? I also wrote it thinking of a part from "Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenter" by J.D. Salinger. It goes,

"Sometimes, in fact, when I come in the front door, its like entering a kind of un-tidy, secular, two-woman convent. Sometimes when I leave, I have a peculiar feeling that both M. and her mother have stuffed my pockets with little bottles and tubes containing lipstick, rouge, hair nets, deodorants, and so on. I feel overwhelmingly grateful to them, but I don't know what to do with their invisible gifts."