By Mona Calvert
Confusion reigns. She is the queen of muddle. She rules all she surveys in the twelve by fourteen foot room that is her empire. To her, there is no distinction between the telephone and the remote, between January and July. Day is night and night no longer exists. Sleep at any point brings a scrap of peace, but then the crazy quilt of time starts again. Hour? Day? Date? Little registers. Except love. She still knows love.