A Letter Found At FPL

Working at Fifty Percent Literature certainly has its perks.  The job is simple and satisfying.  My fellow employees are intelligent and interesting.  Every day, I discover new books and new authors.

And people sell us paperbacks with all kinds of crap inside.

Usually, it's just movie tickets or airline boarding passes.  We get a lot of those.  Sometimes it's an old bookmark.  But today, I found my first handwritten page.  No one else thought it was exciting; they'd all seen it before.  But I was excited.  It's a tantalizing glimpse into a stranger's life.  It feels incredibly voyeuristic.

Here, in its entirety, spelling intact, is the content of the page I found.  It is written in pencil, in an old-fashioned female hand, on lined purple paper, which had clearly been torn out of a spiral notebook.  Some words I simply couldn't decipher; they're just xxx.  

I don't know what to make of this sad page, torn so abruptly  from its surroundings.  Is the author serious?  Is any of it tongue-in-cheek?  And why is she so sad?  Is this motherhood?  

"I stare at the moon.  On nights when I'm reflecting, thinking or trying to conjure comfort or peace, I wonder how anybody thought it was made of cheese, and I have yet to see the man.  What a scarry thought - a man watching you, would he open his eyes and say boo!  Did our ancestors live in fear even at night?

"It's hard to imagine yet I guess most people are probably afraid of the night.  I used to be especially in unfamiliar surroundings but now I just accept it as night - A quiet - usually (except in the summer when all the cicadas raise so much racket it annoys you - steals the place - very annoying) peaceful time.  Its made for other creatures not seen during the day.  Creatures like me.  I've been working nights almost five years.  Does it change you?  I believe so.  It makes you love the solitude, the calm, I feel I have a greater perception of earth, the universe of being alone.

"Many people run around all day going - going then fall into bed only to rise again + start over.  I move slow, I think slow - I hesitate when I speak.  I get my days confused.  I think tho [thro? this?] aging.  I'm not sure.

"but it makes me feel inadequate like I don't belong in the "day" world.

"I remember when my babies were young, I took them to the zoo every week.  Then we would shell [?] around central park [I swear it says central park].  The xxx was so big and xxx, in the fall a blanket of leaves would cover the ground big crunchy leaves and their little xxx would come along - you didn't want to talk just listen to the sound.  It was peaceful, the parking - but was full of gang-bangers and drugs - but no one bothered us.  [I swear that's what it says.]

"We just crunched along.  Thinking of that time makes me cry.  My children were so young - so perfect.  Its hard to believe the beautiful young adults are the same people babies - where did the time go?  Did I teach them enough?  I wish [here it shifts from pencil to pen] I could just erase all the mistakes I've made, all the sad times.  Would they be better off without those times?  I don't know.  I just wish we could feel that same peace again.  Innocent, loving, easy going, crunching - its been awhile since Ive felt it."