Yeserday, I attended a meeting of the Preservation Resource Center here in New Orleans.

And I talked with three people, saying my name when I introduced myself and everything.

This is huge, huge, huge for me.

And made passing comments to a couple of other people who made passing comments to me.

I was so afraid when I left the house. Afraid of what? Just being in public. Just feeling left out, and like a fool, the world's oldest, frumpy, middle-aged woman court jester.

But I promised my T I'd do -- and more importantly, I'd promised myself.

The hope that I may be able to purchase one of these wrecked homes, and make something of it, and have my own little home again, is the only thing that keeps me going. I don't know how I'm going to manage it -- I need to show a source of income even to do this -- even a small income -- but I do so want to feel settled again.

Most people here live with bars on the windows and alarm systems, But I don't care. I want my own home again.