My girl continually hears of all of my would be adventures. She decided she was not to be left in the dust so she told me she was making her own bucket list... I told her she could absolutely not call it a bucket list because 1- it wouldn't be fair because she has longer to live than I do. 2- well anyone under 18 who is as healthy as my kid cannot use that saying. Its my house, my rules. God I love being the parent. So we renamed her list as the "Before/At the Age of Majority" list.
Hannah's Age of Majority List
1. Learn to speak Japanese (started)
2. Save enough money to go to Japan with her friend at graduation. (started)
3. Eat a hot dog from a street vendor in Boise on a kickin' Friday or Saturday night.
4. See Katy Perry in concert.
5. Start her own babysitting business.
(She has already become certified in CPR and the use of an AED)
6. Ride in a hot air balloon.
7. Sing as a part of a choir.
8. Learn to play the piano.
9. See the Solar Eclipse.
10. She wants to see the entire TV drama of ER. It was one of our video binges we indulged in, in the beginning of the year, when she needed distraction and wouldn't leave my bed for fear of the silence, the suspension of real life for her so she didn't actually have to sleep alone in her own room alone. Luckily, I was between temp jobs, by the grace of God, and we would wear her out with drama, Noah Wiley and I would sometimes talk about how this show used to be "date night" for my ex-husband (her father) and I. I would tell her little things about that time in our lives when she was a baby and we would settle her down before 9pm so we could spend just a little time alone together. It comforted her because she remembered what peace lived inside her blueberry home. She didn't know the future. Hell, none of us knew the future. So perhaps, besides Noah Wiley, there was an internal calmness that she had forgotten about growing up in a functional home. Growing up with a father that she didn't remember as loving and kind, like the father I would tell her about. We would watch 'till our eyes hurt and then we would turn off the tv and try to sleep. She crawled in close to me, we would whisper thoughts as they came to us. One night, she and I talked about the last night I tucked her into her blueberry bed. She knew I was leaving for a different house. I knew I was leaving to a different house. Neither of us wanted it to happen. Although, being the grown up, I knew why I had to. A heartbreak I thought only I would remember. I was wrong. I remember lying there in the dark with her and apologizing for having to leave. I told her that I had no choice but to leave because I would have been living a lie if I stayed. I was a lesbian and I had to leave. I told her about the horribleness of pretending to be someone I wasn't and that I just couldn't do it any more. We were both tearful, laying there whispering in the dark after our long evening of ER. I told her I was so sorry for having to leave her there, tucked tight in her blueberry bed. I thought she would say something like, "I forgive you" or "Its okay mom" but instead, she whispers, "I know exactly how you felt now mom, pretending, always pretending to be happy, and perfect and having no one know the truth." I remembering reaching out to stroke her cheek. I missed and poked her eye.... we giggled but I felt her tears. I wiped them away. She reached out and fumbled for my face as well. She found and wiped my tears away too. She and I watched every episode of ER we could find but they are scarce... we didn't make it to the 3rd season. I need to find the entire set of ER for her for Christmas. I have seen it on Ebay. I don't know where the money is going to come from but she and I need that. It was our safe place.
We will update this list as it grows. And it surely will. She has only had a few months in which the world of possibilities has been laid before her and I told her the secret... she can dream. She can make anything happen she wants to. She doesn't have to be perfect to be good. And its okay to fall flat on her face, or change her mind. It isn't something that she has been used to hearing in the silence of her room. In a quiet house. With no one to talk to.
How exciting it is to be learning from the things I teach her. How exciting to see her eyes light up when she finds there is no reason not to create her own experiences.
Wow! Thanks!
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
holding at Wow, will wait until bedtime to get further into Thanks...
Anne Lamott has a new book, soon to be released as i hear.... called Help. Thanks. Wow. Three Essential Prayers.... now I have no knowledge of what is inside this book so don't begin to think I know something you don't. But just with this title I have to tell you that this is how it worked for me today.
I learned HELP! a few years ago while reading Traveling Mercies, I believe. So I try to remember to use it before I do something that would not be productive for anyone. Its simple. Its to the point and God really doesn't need an explanation. He has been walking through the muck with me the entire time waiting for me to ask.
I have been screaming HELP! to a God who surely wishes I would lower my voice, for days now. It is amazing how hard it is to remember. To me, its like a "safe word". (sorry Lord) but you can be in deep doo doo if you forget your safe word. If, you are, of course, in a situation where one would need one. Forgetting a safe word is a major problem.... I hear. Why I let all the other things run through my head first before I ever think of HELP! is a mystery. Perhaps I am just not in the habit yet. Perhaps, I don't believe it can be as simple as that. One word. No essay, no application no confession or hair shirt. Just HELP!
Its been more than a few days really. Its been almost 2 weeks, that is 14 days... wow when I put it that way, seriously? I have been in spiritual turmoil for 14 days? How embarrassing... it feels like much longer. It always does. I could have never been Moses.
I finally said it, today. HELP! I actually didn't even say it out loud. I wanted to find somewhere to scream it and throw rocks and empty pixie sticks, anything really... I wanted the physical world to hear the sound of a soul in desperation. But logistics just weren't happening. I needed to be completely alone and surrounded by excellent scenery of parched ground, emptiness, candy wrappers and rocks... lots of rocks. Oh and a professional movie sound team and of course, the cameras... and maybe Ron Howard. But mostly, I needed to be alone to scream out loud in front of all those people.
"HELP!" inside I said, and ad libbed a little bit more, "I am going crazy. Make it stop PLEASE?!"
I am have been rendered ineffectual toward some of the situations in my life and have been now for (I promise) more than 14 days. 3 years. Still not Moses but enough for this girl.
I got home from the futile dance I do every two weeks. Even knowing that in December someone who can change things, save children, make grown ups act appropriately, will come, its just getting to be too far away. The closer it gets the farther away it is. I have absolutely no control over it.
Where the hell is Ron Howard? I thought as I pulled into my apartment house. Instead, my loving daughter starts dinner. Wonderful tacos, as I sit down to my email hoping for.... what? HELP? And there it was, HELP :-). My son, my beautiful son who is out in life, living happily, honestly and lovingly, shows up in my email with a shout out with a new phone number and then an actual phone call. His voice, his stories of what he has been doing, and blessed reassurance that he too, loved his mother. He is exactly who he wants to be. I couldn't ask for anything more than that from a child. Be happy. Be healthy. Have plans. Be in the moment. After the heart to heart, and the sound of the phone disconnecting, I sat on the side of my bed. Wow, I thought. Thanks!
The tacos were amazing. The peace is amazing. All I had to do is remember my safe word. HELP!? Perhaps, I need to remember it sooner. Or ask before I start looking for Ron Howard to direct my complete breakdown. Perhaps, I can do it differently. Perhaps it should be a waking prayer. HELP?! Then the recognition in the middle of the day of WOW! and then the sacred time at night when I can give thanks, THANKS! seems so much easier than what I have been doing.
I learned HELP! a few years ago while reading Traveling Mercies, I believe. So I try to remember to use it before I do something that would not be productive for anyone. Its simple. Its to the point and God really doesn't need an explanation. He has been walking through the muck with me the entire time waiting for me to ask.
I have been screaming HELP! to a God who surely wishes I would lower my voice, for days now. It is amazing how hard it is to remember. To me, its like a "safe word". (sorry Lord) but you can be in deep doo doo if you forget your safe word. If, you are, of course, in a situation where one would need one. Forgetting a safe word is a major problem.... I hear. Why I let all the other things run through my head first before I ever think of HELP! is a mystery. Perhaps I am just not in the habit yet. Perhaps, I don't believe it can be as simple as that. One word. No essay, no application no confession or hair shirt. Just HELP!
Its been more than a few days really. Its been almost 2 weeks, that is 14 days... wow when I put it that way, seriously? I have been in spiritual turmoil for 14 days? How embarrassing... it feels like much longer. It always does. I could have never been Moses.
I finally said it, today. HELP! I actually didn't even say it out loud. I wanted to find somewhere to scream it and throw rocks and empty pixie sticks, anything really... I wanted the physical world to hear the sound of a soul in desperation. But logistics just weren't happening. I needed to be completely alone and surrounded by excellent scenery of parched ground, emptiness, candy wrappers and rocks... lots of rocks. Oh and a professional movie sound team and of course, the cameras... and maybe Ron Howard. But mostly, I needed to be alone to scream out loud in front of all those people.
"HELP!" inside I said, and ad libbed a little bit more, "I am going crazy. Make it stop PLEASE?!"
I am have been rendered ineffectual toward some of the situations in my life and have been now for (I promise) more than 14 days. 3 years. Still not Moses but enough for this girl.
I got home from the futile dance I do every two weeks. Even knowing that in December someone who can change things, save children, make grown ups act appropriately, will come, its just getting to be too far away. The closer it gets the farther away it is. I have absolutely no control over it.
Where the hell is Ron Howard? I thought as I pulled into my apartment house. Instead, my loving daughter starts dinner. Wonderful tacos, as I sit down to my email hoping for.... what? HELP? And there it was, HELP :-). My son, my beautiful son who is out in life, living happily, honestly and lovingly, shows up in my email with a shout out with a new phone number and then an actual phone call. His voice, his stories of what he has been doing, and blessed reassurance that he too, loved his mother. He is exactly who he wants to be. I couldn't ask for anything more than that from a child. Be happy. Be healthy. Have plans. Be in the moment. After the heart to heart, and the sound of the phone disconnecting, I sat on the side of my bed. Wow, I thought. Thanks!
The tacos were amazing. The peace is amazing. All I had to do is remember my safe word. HELP!? Perhaps, I need to remember it sooner. Or ask before I start looking for Ron Howard to direct my complete breakdown. Perhaps, I can do it differently. Perhaps it should be a waking prayer. HELP?! Then the recognition in the middle of the day of WOW! and then the sacred time at night when I can give thanks, THANKS! seems so much easier than what I have been doing.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Volunteerism
I have carried 5 children to term. I gave birth and breath to 4. The first two came with breath were in 1990 and 1992. I learned then that it was not just the beautiful, serene experience you think life is going to be after you bring them home. I want to say that "they" didn't tell us stuff we needed to know but I am not sure now if "they" held information back or if "they" just omitted it because either they had been so traumatized by the experiences that "they" buried it somewhere deep in their psyche that "they" honestly don't remember or "they" never once encountered the "over achiever of the school age children's mother" syndrome. Or "they" WERE card carrying O.A.S.A.C.Ms themselves and wouldn't admit it or never came to terms with their embarrassing, bullying, one-up-womanship which turns grown women back into the manipulative children they once were.
I know of what I speak, really. Try providing the most perfect dessert for a class birthday party, just once and feel what it is like to have the others look at you like they could have done much better and provided the entire cast of Sesame Street to serve each child a treat on a platter of crystal. Seriously. You KNOW I am. I gave up. I remember when it was too, crystal clear, like the plates I never brought to the damned parties, ladies. I was going to make Witch Fingers out of pretzel dough and an almond for the finger nails. I worked days to get it down right. Me and Martha Stewart before she started day trading... The day of the party, (back when they were allow to, 1- have Halloween parties, 2- bring homemade snacks 3- have a nut involved. and no, haha, I am not talking about me) we got to school and my kid who was sitting in the back seat with Witch Fingers decided to help by pulling them out of the car and handing them to me. They where heavy. 6 million dozen Witch Fingers are heavy. I distinctly remember saying, "Oh no hon, let me get them. They are heavy and it is slippery..." They also made an indelible statement as they, in slow motion, I swear! slow motion, fell to the ground into a puddle of last night's effort to snow, better known as slush. Dirty parking lot slush. Now I admit for a second I was thinking I could save at least 3 million dozen if I carefully picked up the ones that were piled onto the more unfortunate ones. I did! I confess! But I realized that my kids could have never not said something about it and then there would have been hoards of O.A.S.A.C.Ms with torches hunting me down like an ogre in a forest. My kid was devastated. Yelling at kid, didn't help. I instead, stepped over the devastation and hugged kid and reassured her that it didn't matter. I could go to the store and get more snacks for the party. We cleaned up the tears and left the mess next to the car and went inside. I told the story to the teachers about how I had slipped and lost control of the 100 billion gazillion dozen Witch Fingers and they were now toast. Really damp toast. I saw their disappointment, first in not seeing the Martha Stewart perfection, then the oh no it was our signature treat! then to panic and a bit of suspicion that I either did it on purpose to make their lives miserable or never did it at all. I told them I would go to the store and replace the treats with whatever I could that was Halloweenie and have them back to the school in an hour or so. They nodded in understanding and major disappointment. When I made it back the other mothers had started to assemble and I did the walk of pre-made - discounted bakery ware cupcakes with a plastic oversized toothpick thingy with a Halloween theme in each, walk of shame. The cupcakes were coated with more dye than what would be needed to paint the center line of the interstate. And it was cracking... why else was it on sale? I sighed. Put them in the back part of the room and watched as the eyes of the O.A.S.A.C.Ms follow me out the door. And to quote this Cupcake Mommy, "never more..."
I thought about this story today as I came back from registering my 13 year old for school today and I was handed the volunteer opps paper. It comes back to me now in exaggerated hilarity and hurt... I am not sure how exaggerated the hurt is honestly. Mean girls can choose to be mean always. Only when they are older they have better ammunition. No, not better, just different. Motherhood is sacred beyond all other things. Although I can laugh my butt off now at the actual facts as I know them, the end of my career as a Cupcake Mommy saga... good times, good times. Now mind you, it wasn't the epoch failure that stopped it. It was the general aire of the volunteer mommies in general. I was not meant to be one. I was not meant to fit in, with the gossip, with competion , with the "oooh oooh like me best teacher-of-my-child" mentality. I quit feeling bad about it. Some mothers barely make it to Parent Teacher Conference Night. They spend their time via email and extra time in conferences with their child's teacher. For whatever reason, be it a busy career or a severe aversion to the Cupcake Mommies. They are there when they are needed. They are mom. Good enough. More than so many get. Bravo to the members of the NOT O.A.S.A.C.Ms.
I timidly looked over the volunteer sheet and realized that it had graduated into other realms that I was so much better at. First, I didn't need to have contact with any of my student's teachers outside of conferences, so I would not have to feel the icky expectation of or watch as others fall to the gravitational pull of ass kissing for popularity. I am excited about the opportunities available. Most of the volunteer positions are those I have spent in salaried positions in my former life before children. Most of the volunteer positions do not entail cupcakes. If someone, who doesn't read my blog asks me to, I will tell them the cautionary story and let them decide if I am the right candidate for the mission.
None of this has anything to do with Donald Shimoda. Don may or not be a fictional character. He is a character in Richard Bach's book, Illusions. For all I know Richard Bach's status as a fictional character is still up in the air as well. As is the book I am holding in my hand. And as the blue chair continues her onslaught on me, I believe my status is also... hers although, is more ethereal. However, ethereal really isn't that far from fictional. Depending on your predisposition and physical perspective and willingness to bathe in existentialism. Perhaps the blue chair, the tree outside the window, and I are almost or completely and delightfully fictional with a more substantial purpose. All the while trying to reach and maintain groundlessness.
"If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats."
-Richard Bach (Donald Shimoda) is that either of you?- Bueller?
Later on in the book however it does connect with volunteerism. Chapter 13 to be exact. It states,
"Your conscience is the measure of the honesty of your selfishness. Listen to it carefully."
Paraphrasing, Don says to Richard that we are all free to do as we choose. Richard trying to out smart his spiritual teacher tries to correct him. "We are all free to do what we want to do, as long as we don't hurt somebody else, I know you meant that, but you ought to say what you mean"
Same situation in the blue chair instead of a campfire, juuuuuuust yesterday.
"I just want her to be happy."
"Why do you want her to be happy so emphatically?"
"Because I don't wish anyone ill will or a bad life."
"Well I know that about you. You are about the big picture, the extended family, the "Rodney King" wish for the world. I get that. I like that. If every one could be like that it would be so healing. That is all fine. But why do you personally want her to be happy so emphatically that you continue to sacrifice your well-being, when you already know the outcome, after 3 years of the same behavior, nina you KNOW the behavior, you are certainly not clueless, WHY is it so important that she is happy?"
"I just want her to be happy."
"We are out of time but I we will talk about this next time. This part is about you, not her."
Don, being Don, could do nothing else but to be Don. Teacher with props. Suddenly, Richard sees through the darkness, a dark wretched thing, speaking with a thick accent. Czech or maybe Russian? Black cape lined in red satin. As I recall he was sensitive to the light of the fire. Richard asked the stranger if he could help him and he told him that if Richard didn't let him drink his blood, the stranger would writhe in pain and eventually die a horrible death. Richard wasn't about to let this stranger drain him of his life so that this stranger could live happily and comfortably. It wasn't the strangers fault he was a vampire, it wasn't wrong for Richard to say no to the stranger. As it all turned out Don just created this imaginary person to teach Richard that you don't have to give someone what they desperately need if it will do desperate damage to you. You are not bad to say no. To walk away. To ignore forever... "even if" because it is our own individual choice to be hurt. We can choose to be hurt. We can. But once you understand it is a choice, you can no longer cry, "I had to or they would be ______ (unhappy?).
Chapter 14 begins with a quote that mirrors the previous lesson. So I will add it here:
"Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you." -Illusions-
I called the blue chair expecting her voicemail but instead of Memorex, she was live.
"I am a liar." I said. Then I back tracked a bit to make sure that she knew that I really did want harsher punishments for parole violations and.... world peace.
"I mean," I stuttered, "I don't want her unhappy, but the reason I want her happy so badly is because as long as she is happy, she disappears and leaves me alone." "I am being disingenuously selfless, when I say that I want her happy just for her." "I am full of shit."
"I was going to get to that next time we talked but you got there first."
I just don't know what to do with this yet.
I know of what I speak, really. Try providing the most perfect dessert for a class birthday party, just once and feel what it is like to have the others look at you like they could have done much better and provided the entire cast of Sesame Street to serve each child a treat on a platter of crystal. Seriously. You KNOW I am. I gave up. I remember when it was too, crystal clear, like the plates I never brought to the damned parties, ladies. I was going to make Witch Fingers out of pretzel dough and an almond for the finger nails. I worked days to get it down right. Me and Martha Stewart before she started day trading... The day of the party, (back when they were allow to, 1- have Halloween parties, 2- bring homemade snacks 3- have a nut involved. and no, haha, I am not talking about me) we got to school and my kid who was sitting in the back seat with Witch Fingers decided to help by pulling them out of the car and handing them to me. They where heavy. 6 million dozen Witch Fingers are heavy. I distinctly remember saying, "Oh no hon, let me get them. They are heavy and it is slippery..." They also made an indelible statement as they, in slow motion, I swear! slow motion, fell to the ground into a puddle of last night's effort to snow, better known as slush. Dirty parking lot slush. Now I admit for a second I was thinking I could save at least 3 million dozen if I carefully picked up the ones that were piled onto the more unfortunate ones. I did! I confess! But I realized that my kids could have never not said something about it and then there would have been hoards of O.A.S.A.C.Ms with torches hunting me down like an ogre in a forest. My kid was devastated. Yelling at kid, didn't help. I instead, stepped over the devastation and hugged kid and reassured her that it didn't matter. I could go to the store and get more snacks for the party. We cleaned up the tears and left the mess next to the car and went inside. I told the story to the teachers about how I had slipped and lost control of the 100 billion gazillion dozen Witch Fingers and they were now toast. Really damp toast. I saw their disappointment, first in not seeing the Martha Stewart perfection, then the oh no it was our signature treat! then to panic and a bit of suspicion that I either did it on purpose to make their lives miserable or never did it at all. I told them I would go to the store and replace the treats with whatever I could that was Halloweenie and have them back to the school in an hour or so. They nodded in understanding and major disappointment. When I made it back the other mothers had started to assemble and I did the walk of pre-made - discounted bakery ware cupcakes with a plastic oversized toothpick thingy with a Halloween theme in each, walk of shame. The cupcakes were coated with more dye than what would be needed to paint the center line of the interstate. And it was cracking... why else was it on sale? I sighed. Put them in the back part of the room and watched as the eyes of the O.A.S.A.C.Ms follow me out the door. And to quote this Cupcake Mommy, "never more..."
I thought about this story today as I came back from registering my 13 year old for school today and I was handed the volunteer opps paper. It comes back to me now in exaggerated hilarity and hurt... I am not sure how exaggerated the hurt is honestly. Mean girls can choose to be mean always. Only when they are older they have better ammunition. No, not better, just different. Motherhood is sacred beyond all other things. Although I can laugh my butt off now at the actual facts as I know them, the end of my career as a Cupcake Mommy saga... good times, good times. Now mind you, it wasn't the epoch failure that stopped it. It was the general aire of the volunteer mommies in general. I was not meant to be one. I was not meant to fit in, with the gossip, with competion , with the "oooh oooh like me best teacher-of-my-child" mentality. I quit feeling bad about it. Some mothers barely make it to Parent Teacher Conference Night. They spend their time via email and extra time in conferences with their child's teacher. For whatever reason, be it a busy career or a severe aversion to the Cupcake Mommies. They are there when they are needed. They are mom. Good enough. More than so many get. Bravo to the members of the NOT O.A.S.A.C.Ms.
I timidly looked over the volunteer sheet and realized that it had graduated into other realms that I was so much better at. First, I didn't need to have contact with any of my student's teachers outside of conferences, so I would not have to feel the icky expectation of or watch as others fall to the gravitational pull of ass kissing for popularity. I am excited about the opportunities available. Most of the volunteer positions are those I have spent in salaried positions in my former life before children. Most of the volunteer positions do not entail cupcakes. If someone, who doesn't read my blog asks me to, I will tell them the cautionary story and let them decide if I am the right candidate for the mission.
None of this has anything to do with Donald Shimoda. Don may or not be a fictional character. He is a character in Richard Bach's book, Illusions. For all I know Richard Bach's status as a fictional character is still up in the air as well. As is the book I am holding in my hand. And as the blue chair continues her onslaught on me, I believe my status is also... hers although, is more ethereal. However, ethereal really isn't that far from fictional. Depending on your predisposition and physical perspective and willingness to bathe in existentialism. Perhaps the blue chair, the tree outside the window, and I are almost or completely and delightfully fictional with a more substantial purpose. All the while trying to reach and maintain groundlessness.
"If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats."
-Richard Bach (Donald Shimoda) is that either of you?- Bueller?
Later on in the book however it does connect with volunteerism. Chapter 13 to be exact. It states,
"Your conscience is the measure of the honesty of your selfishness. Listen to it carefully."
Paraphrasing, Don says to Richard that we are all free to do as we choose. Richard trying to out smart his spiritual teacher tries to correct him. "We are all free to do what we want to do, as long as we don't hurt somebody else, I know you meant that, but you ought to say what you mean"
Same situation in the blue chair instead of a campfire, juuuuuuust yesterday.
"I just want her to be happy."
"Why do you want her to be happy so emphatically?"
"Because I don't wish anyone ill will or a bad life."
"Well I know that about you. You are about the big picture, the extended family, the "Rodney King" wish for the world. I get that. I like that. If every one could be like that it would be so healing. That is all fine. But why do you personally want her to be happy so emphatically that you continue to sacrifice your well-being, when you already know the outcome, after 3 years of the same behavior, nina you KNOW the behavior, you are certainly not clueless, WHY is it so important that she is happy?"
"I just want her to be happy."
"We are out of time but I we will talk about this next time. This part is about you, not her."
Don, being Don, could do nothing else but to be Don. Teacher with props. Suddenly, Richard sees through the darkness, a dark wretched thing, speaking with a thick accent. Czech or maybe Russian? Black cape lined in red satin. As I recall he was sensitive to the light of the fire. Richard asked the stranger if he could help him and he told him that if Richard didn't let him drink his blood, the stranger would writhe in pain and eventually die a horrible death. Richard wasn't about to let this stranger drain him of his life so that this stranger could live happily and comfortably. It wasn't the strangers fault he was a vampire, it wasn't wrong for Richard to say no to the stranger. As it all turned out Don just created this imaginary person to teach Richard that you don't have to give someone what they desperately need if it will do desperate damage to you. You are not bad to say no. To walk away. To ignore forever... "even if" because it is our own individual choice to be hurt. We can choose to be hurt. We can. But once you understand it is a choice, you can no longer cry, "I had to or they would be ______ (unhappy?).
Chapter 14 begins with a quote that mirrors the previous lesson. So I will add it here:
"Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you." -Illusions-
I called the blue chair expecting her voicemail but instead of Memorex, she was live.
"I am a liar." I said. Then I back tracked a bit to make sure that she knew that I really did want harsher punishments for parole violations and.... world peace.
"I mean," I stuttered, "I don't want her unhappy, but the reason I want her happy so badly is because as long as she is happy, she disappears and leaves me alone." "I am being disingenuously selfless, when I say that I want her happy just for her." "I am full of shit."
"I was going to get to that next time we talked but you got there first."
I just don't know what to do with this yet.
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