Diary of a Geriatric Scarlet: November 3, 2050

Over the weekend, I walked with my manservant to the flower stand at the farmer's market. I often miss the farmer's market as it takes place only on Saturdays. I have no interest in remembering what day it is. I do not organize my life around weekdays or weekends or any of the other days. I do as I please.

Flowers are such decadence. You buy them and wait for them to die, Dia de los Muertos style.

Dia de los Muertos is one day I remember to remember. It's the day the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest.

I put my flowers in water and think of those lost beyond the veil. I find a veil from my closet and drape it around the vase. I pick up my book from the table and sit in the semi-darkness. Out of the corner of my eye, I admire my tribute to lost summers.