Four years ago I was working as a caregiver to the elderly, for a private Montreal company that catered to well-off clients, including two senators, the wife of the man who designed the Montreal metro, the mother of a McGill psychiatrist specializing in adolescent schizophrenia, and other fascinating people. One of my last clients was a beautiful, elegant 70-year-old woman whose husband had recently passed away. She now lived alone in their two storey duplex in a middle class neighborhood. Her client description was nothing special ("Highly intelligent. Likes to talk. Can be repetitive.") but didn't prepare me for being a live-in companion to a woman who I began to realize had been MKed while growing up in a remote northern village, and had likely killed people -- at least that would be my guess judging from her scattered references to violent events in her past. The more she talked about her life (in long staccato monologues delivered across her tiny table in a crampe...
And here's another online journal I started a few years ago
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