I feel bad for transcribing Bertha’s phone messages in yesterday’s post. While they seemed funny and a little scary to me, they don’t reflect the real Bertha. In fact, I feel bad for calling her “Bertha.” I should have called her “Jennifer” or at least something less witchy like “Matilda.” You see, Bertha came over to my condo last night. Fortunately, I had left the front door unlocked, so she just walked in when I didn’t answer. (I NEVER answer the doorbell unless I’m expecting someone.) If I had locked the door, I wouldn’t have gotten to know Bertha well enough to know that she isn’t crazy, unless of course she climbed through a window. She has a strong will and a forcefulness that’s refreshing. I even like the way she walks. She hangs a little forward and stomps along as if she’s constantly regaining her balance. Something about her combination of vulnerability and assertiveness appeals to me. We’re going out on a date on Friday night. Just the two of us. She’s driving.

Isolation score: 1