A Cabbage Deserves More

Remember this? The crazy chunk of cabbage I threw out into the compost that took root?

See Left Over Garden” & “Bragging About My Left Over Garden

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The beast is now producing little heads of cabbage not just on the ground but in it’s branches!

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And would you believe it! I think one of the seed pods dropped and took root as well!

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I am still flabbergasted at this! And rather embarrassed. Embarrassed because I am so AMAZED at a cabbage growing willy nilly in my Leftover Garden.  I guess it says something about the world I live in. I tout myself for being a reasonable environmentalist, a do it yourself type,  somewhat knowledgeable on the ways of nature & for the most part in tune or in sync with my surroundings … But I’ve never seen this before. I never even thought about how this would work, or look like.  I’m embarrassed that I took all of this for granted, and it deserves so much more than that,even if it is just a cabbage…

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I Nearly Quit My Job

I nearly quit my job

Another double shift on Sunday 16hrs no breaks,

Scheduled to do a 10hrs on Monday night, but got a call @ 3:30am … AM …

Tired, fatigued, exhausted, back to back double shifts, 32hrs in a 48hr period,

I nearly quit my job

OK, I’ll help out, OK just one more time, OK I’ll help out until there’s more staff,

3 years later…

I nearly quit my job

Tired, fatigued, exhausted… Tired, fatigued, exhausted…

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes… One costing me €100 …

FUCK! I just worked 10hrs for FUCKIN’ NOTHING! …

I nearly quit my job

The anxiety, chest tight, throat tight, shaking, shaking, can’t breath

Customers panic, are you OK, are you Ok, are you OK…

Dizzy, but still on my feet, calm down, calm down, calm down…

I nearly quit my job

I had it planned.

I’ll finish this shift, & not come in for the next…

I’ll finish this shift, & give 2 weeks notice…

I’ll finish this shift & quit in February before Tet…

I’ll finish this shift & quit when she comes back from holidays …

I’ll finish this shift & quit after I’m back from my holidays …

I’ll finish this shift & …

I nearly quit my job

If you hate it just quit!

If it’s affecting your health just quit!

If management won’t do that, or this just quit!

If it’s taking away from your happiness just quit!

If it’s destroying your relationships just quit!

Just quit! Just Quit! JUST QUIT!

I nearly quit my job

But what about my rent? I live paycheck to paycheck, the rent is going up

But what about my bills? Not that I have many, I’m very frugal, but they keep asking for more

But what about food? I guess I’ll go without

I nearly quit my job

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The Cú Faoil Named “Woad”

A bit of a troubled teenager… No, I was a troubled teenager. But not troubled in a way that “They” felt needed addressing. So I spend many of my nights out and about. I wasn’t anti social, I would go do things like sneak into the Penrose Stadium and watch the rodeos and such. When I was 17 or so, on St. Patrick’s Day there was a big festival in the Penrose Stadium. Of course I had to go. Did my usual and went around back, jumped fence, through the stables and out onto the grounds. Security wasn’t big back then.

There was food, music, stands, whiskey, beer, more food, more music, and a big stage where people danced. I know now it’s called a Ceili. All the different styles, even set dances that were almost identical to the American country square dancing. This was late in the day, I had not eaten or drank anything. I was a poor disgruntled teenager, what do you expect? I was tired but fascinated with all that was around me.

So there I am, standing next to the stage, and this black wavy haired Irish guy, with sapphire blue eyes grabs a hold of me and says; “Your not Irish, but I’ll dance with yah anyway!” He pulls me up on stage and we dance, and danced, and danced some more. At the end I was so exhausted that I just slumped on a chair, or was it bench… not sure it might have been a half wall.  Well he, and at the time I assumed was his parents (they were) came up to me and said that they would take me home. I didn’t want to go home. Not a good place. They manage to coax me into their car. ( I know it doesn’t sound good ) I wouldn’t tell them where I lived and told them to just drop me off by Palmer Park. They were having nothing of it. So they took me to their place instead. Probably because I fell asleep in there car.

I half remember the Mom making a bed on the couch and her giving me pillows. I remember them all saying goodnight, and a ginormous blue shadow sitting at attention quietly by the door . It was comforting. I fell asleep.

In the morning I half woke to the smell of bacon and a giant wet nose touching mine. It didn’t move. Still as a cold Winter’s night. I couldn’t even feel the wind in it’s breath. Behind the nose was a pair of bushy eyebrows, one cocked in an inquisitive manor. Off in the distance I hear the Mom; “Nicky! Go wake up your girlfriend!” Then Nick yelled out “WOOOAAD!”.  The body behind the nose doubled, tripled in size! And with one enormous HUUUUFFFFF!, the nose’s  beard pierced my face like a billion paper cuts. With a resounding “AHHH!” I !jump to my feet.

“She’s up!” I hear Nicky exclaim.

“Come to the kitchen and have your breakfast!” the Mother commanded.

I didn’t need to look down. This beautiful and mystical creature, with just a tip up of his chin could nearly meet me eye to eye. He must have been 7ft nose to tail and covered thick in a wiry steely blue coat.  He didn’t pant, or wag his tail. Thank Goodness for that! He’d knock the place down better than a wrecking ball if he did. He was regal and ancient like a Celtic Sage. And for some strange reason, smelled like tarragon. With a light grunt, he turned around and headed into the kitchen. I followed.

On the table there was a plate with a fried egg, what I now know as a “rasher” (bacon) some white and black chunks (black & white pudding), mushrooms, tomato, toast, a bow of creamy oatmeal, and … baked beans? … What the? Apparently this is what the Irish call a “Fry Up” or just a “Fry” … As soon as I sat down, over my left shoulder, like the devil whispering in my ear, Woad rested his head.

“Woad…” the Father said calmly. Woad lifted his head, huffed a defeated grumpy huff and went outside, where he chomp on some greens. Ah! A tarragon bush. That explains it.

“What … uh … what kind of dog is … uh … that… ‘er … him?” I asked.

“A proper Irish Wolfhound.” The Father said looking over the morning paper he was reading.

Nick comes in with wet hair and sits at the plate next to me. “I’m Nicky.””

“I know” I replied

“So who are you?”

We all start laughing hysterically. What a surreal situation! Woad comes barging in tail straight, head up high! Without curling his jowls or showing his teeth he growls. Not a growl that you could hear, but a growl you felt deep down in the pit of your stomach. A growl that would shake the heavens back down to earth. We all froze and held our breath at the impending consequence of our laughter. Ages went by before Woad huffed and went back outside.

“You should hear him when he’s angry.” Said Nicky. We all giggled quietly this time.

Obviously Nicky and I became very close and Woad was always there to make sure we behaved. Strange sort of hound. He never care to sit up on the bed or couch. He would cock and eyebrow and  huff at you when you invited him onto the couch as if to say that a proper hound with a shred of dignity would never disgrace itself by laying on a sofa! A proper hound would lay in a bed of thorns at the foot of the bed always at attention! … Or maybe he just knew he wouldn’t fit… I never heard him bark, and he never panted, even after a run. Maybe because his beard was long and covered his gaping mouth? Oh my, to see him run . ..*sigh*… A well orchestrated symphony of grace and power! It was MESMERIZING!

This was a long time ago, and I’m certain that Woad is in BEAUTIFUL place know keeping everyone in check and watching over you while you slept.

The photo below is not Woad. It’s a Google search stock photo. I posted it just to give you a visual hint to the likes of a Cú Faoil Named “Woad”

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My Stay At The Rose Hotel

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A The Great Rose Hotel Of Tralee! A 4 star hotel where all the Roses of the Rose of Tralee stay.  It’s known to every Irish resident from Letterkenny to Dingle. Just mention the Rose Hotel to any of them and they will respond with a loving sigh followed with “Oh Lovely”.  I made the bookings nearly a year ago. Got a really good deal for 3 nights. Sat on it for a few months and then when November came around and people starting talking, when people started asking what you were going to do over the holidays, I told them that I was staying with the boyfriend at the Rose Hotel for 3 nights… “… *Sigh* … Oh Lovely!” They would proceed to tell me about the wonderful times that they spent there. And every one of them wanted to make sure I knew that the Rose Hotel is where the Roses of The Rose of Tralee stay.

So as the days approached, they all had a countdown to the day, the moment that I would arrive at the prestigious and glorious Rose Hotel. Messages through text, whatsapp and facebook; ” Are you there yet? Are you there yet? Are you there  yet?” They were like giddy kids on a road trip to Disneyland. “Are you there yet?” …

We take the 40 bus up to Tralee. We hail a passing cab because we are not sure where it was. The taxi driver reminds us that Tralee is the capital of Kerry, not Killarney and that the Rose Hotel is where all the Roses of the Rose of Tralee stay. He drives us to the front steps and we pay the €7 fee plus a €3 tip. …

… I don’t know what it was that I was expecting. Diamond chandeliers? Doormen in white gloves and top hats? Marbled floors and Wood Sprites serving us champagne when we entered? Whatever I was expecting, I can honestly say that I was expecting a lot more. It wasn’t that is was run down, filthy and the staff were nasty and rude. It just wasn’t the Rose Hotel that everybody and their little dog boasted about.

I found it to be run of the mill standard hotel. Much like the Econo Lodge  near the airport in Denver Colorado. Yes, the Econo Lodge is a discount hotel. The staff were cordial but mechanical and cold. The food was over priced. The room was adequate. The toilet didn’t flush well, so there was a certain level of anxiety that ensued whenever I had to spend more than a penny.  The shower was more complicated than an escape room. After spending an hour deciphering the code, locks, switches, knobs, buttons and pulleys, a stream of lukewarm water poured from the shower. You would have gotten better results if you  held  a garden hose that has been sitting out in the sun, over your head. ..

It wasn’t a bad stay, but for the money I paid even with the deal that I got, I know that I could have done so much better some place else. I nearly feel duped in paying for  a brand name rather than for quality stay.

I Won The Lottery!

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I WON THE LOTTERY! … No I didn’t … It was the  Connolly’s in County Down.  €130 Million Euro … So of course, to help me work through my grief of not winning and knowing at this point in my life the fact that I will ever win anything more than €2 on a scratch ticket, I’m going to tell you what I would have done if I won 130 Million Euro.

  1. Well yeah I’m gonna pay all my bills and pay off all my debt… (€129 Million)
  2. I want to give money to the Cork Life Centre ( https://corklifecentre.org/ ) I was, and maybe still one of those kids. I hated school, esp high school with a passion. I even dropped out for a semester, but was forced back. I worked my ass off to graduate on time. All on my own with no help from anyone that you would normally depend on. Cork Life Centre is grossly underfunded and those kids are well worth every effort (€127 Million)
  3. I’m very detached from my family back in the US, as in we don’t interact. After my “Mother” passed away and I gave up my 40% of  the inheritance to my Brother, he would send a Christmas card with a photo of my Nephew every year now. Regardless of all that has happened. He is family, and my Nephew, isn’t part  of all our drama. I would want my Nephew to get along in life. So I would give him in a trust fund of some sort of a million euro. But he can only take out $50K a year for 20 or so years starting on his 25th birthday (€126 Million)
  4. I want to give money to Cork Penny Dinners. ( http://corkpennydinners.ie/new-about )  I’ve been there. Not having my meals there. I mean I’ve been there where I was so strapped for cash for so long, food became a luxury. Where the only morsels I ate for days were the free samples given out at various grocery stores. If only I had a place where I could sit down and have a decent meal with no questions asked. (€124 Million)
  5. I want to buy the buildings down on the corner of Vicars Road and Poulladuff Road here in Cork City. It’s where there was a furniture store, and before that was a carpet store and a Tile King.  I want to turn it in a recycle, upcycle, re purpose, fix it don’t bin it, learning old trades, do it yourself workshop area. The idea is to have trades people, like electricians , carpenters, etc… there to help you fix your own broken stuff or re purpose your unwanted stuff. For example you might have a chair that your dog chewed through the cushions. You can take the chair in and  not only will someone be there to show you how to reupholster it, but you will have to tools and supplies to do it with. There will also be space for you to do it yourself if you already know how. It will be a where you can learn to spin wool into yarn or have cooking lessons! Where craft groups can get together & be creative. Anything goes really. I would put it all in motion and then donate to Cork Environmental Forum to manage if they want. (http://www.cef.ie/ )  (€115 Million)
  6. This is a big big one. I want to start off by buying 20 houses in Cork City. Fix them up so that they can be rented out to homeless families. Here’s the hitch: Each family would have to agree to participate in this community.  These families all have skills and talents that they can contribute. Maybe one was a legal assistant, another a plumber, another a tailor/seamstress. They would all have to volunteer their skills to the other families in this community. Each house would have a garden to grow their own veggies. Each house would have some sort of renewable energy source and water collection. There will be a doctor, accountant, gardener, electrician, plumber, carpenter that would be on retainer to call into the homes when needed. The families will pay for their own utilities. The rent would be calculated per month as such: €30-€50 property tax, €100 to me, €250 for the trades, €100 invested back into the community to expand. So rent for these families would range from €480-€500 per month. Now that’s only a super duper rough outline. But I would have enough money to give it a go… (€100 Million)

OK… After all that, It will leave me approx €100 Million to still do whatever the hell I want. … I think I will go to one of my favourite coffee shop and get a large Americano with a deep kiss of honey. Sit next to a window and just watch the world go by for the whole day!

Observations Going Into 2019

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Every year my friends, family, co workers, & classmates all are so relieved that the previous year is over and how the new year is going to be  SO AWESOME! We go through the year without changing the way we do or think about anything, and by the end, that year can SUCK IT! And the new year , the new hope will solve all our problems and make us so ridiculous happy! … I’m rather sick of it..

I’m hoping to break this cycle of yearly disappointment. I don’t have a game plan. I really don’t have a clue. But maybe if I make an observation, I can go from there?

… People love watching other people be mean to each other.

The most viewed videos on YouTube are the ones of people yelling, screaming and fighting. I see all those videos posted up on Facebook & Twitter, about how some  guy started a fist fight with another guy over the type of cup their over priced decaffeinated almond milk macha green tea latte came in. People laugh and re-post and make their own banal comments starting cyber fights, posting more videos that are meaner to out do the previous video and more and more people are being become meaner and meaner.  Regardless of all the psychology behind this, or the excuses, or even reasons, people find watching 2 people verbally abusing & beating the crap out of each other over something trivial as entertainment. I first noticed this when that show “Curb Your Enthusiasm” came out in the the early 2000s. (Not to say that it hasn’t been going on for centuries before.) That one woman that was constantly yelling and swearing and abusing everyone, what’s her name? Everyone loved her! I heard/read how people would stop the actress that played her just to hear her yell and swear at them. I found her character rather annoying. I didn’t say that she did, because if I did then I would have been immediately sent to the stocks where everyone would throw rotten slurs at me in hopes to make themselves seem more cultured and in tune to the rhythms of society. People love watch other people being mean to each other. People love being mean. People are mean.

… Along these same lines, people love watching people get hurt… 

Again, with the You Tube, again with the Facebook & Twitter. All the same, but now it’s videos of people taking a chance, being daring, trying something new, but something goes wrong…  They fall off the trampoline and crack their neck, they slide out onto the ice, slip, break their tailbone and fall through the ice, they slip off their skateboard and crush their balls on the stair rails… And heaven forbid you might cringe, or feel bad for the skateboarder that took a chance and crushed his balls! May the social out casting being! And just the same, people post and comment relentlessly more & more brutal and tragic videos trying to out do each other on who is the dominate trend setter. Say nothing about Childish Gambino – This Is America. Have you watched it? Did you get anything from it other than thinking that it was either  rubbish or brilliant? … How far do we need to go before we stop laughing and making fun of people getting hurt and injured?

… I’ll do one more… I have a bunch of other observations in mind, but they may all be how people interact with me particularly. But this one I think a lot of people can relate to… both men and women…

…  Women trying to out bitchy each other…

Now I’m sure I’ll have every woman up in arms about this, every feminist ready to lynch me with how dare yous. I’m a woman. Even though most of my friends are men, I will see this as a woman and this is an observation that I have made numerous times. I don’t know if there is a male version of this. There probably is but I would have no idea how it manifest, because I am not a man….

I don’t know if it’s a diva thing or maybe an inflated sense of entitlement thing or just plain old competition? I don’t know how to even begin to explain it. It comes in many different forms…  One form of it might start with a legitimate complaint about a nasty comment one woman said about another about her clothes but then it spirals down to”…how dare she…”, and “…I would never…”, “… That’s just the way I am, and I’m not changing…” It spirals down into a chaos of bitchy righteous indignation & petty accusations … During this whole bitch fest, there wouldn’t be one comment or thought of the other side, or why. Why was that nasty comment made in the first place? OK, maybe it was because she was a nasty person? OK, why is she so nasty? Well, she’s always been nasty? OK, why is she always so nasty? Well, her whole family died in a car accident when she was in her 20s … Now, how productive was that bitch fest? … Another form would be some woman bitching about how people are not doing things for her and how people are not treating her in the way that she feels that she “deserves”.  The word deserves is use very loosely here… When someone calls her on her bitchiness, then there is another whole tirade of how she’s not being accepted for who she is… And there’s the rub…

I think I will have to write another bitty on this thing about women trying to out bitchy each other ‘coz I can’t put it all into clean concise outlines, sentences, paragraphs … Maybe that’s why nobody really approaches the topic and it just runs rampant like black mould in a damp bathroom.

So, getting back to what I was saying at the beginning… Maybe some of the reasons why flip the bird to the passing year and have such high hope for the new one, is because all we remember from the previous year is mean people arguing, & fighting, adventurous people getting hurt, and women being bitchy divas. It’s no wonder …

A 4th Coyote?

“Is there a 4th Coyote?”

“Aaahh, what?”

“A 4th Coyote?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you know, you’re the 1st Coyote & I’m the 3rd… Is there a 4th one?”

“Ugh… I don’t know. I would assume there is one. You’d think that there’s a 4th, 5th, 6th, and so on.”

“Do they have to to apply?”

“Whaaa?”

“You know, like a job? Do you have to apply for it?”

“Why? Do you want to be the 4th Coyote? You’re already the 3rd.”

“Yeah, no, I mean like why don’t we know who they are or if there are any? I was just thinking that maybe it was like a job that you had to apply for and there are vacancies, and … I don’t know … I mean, the 3 of us kinda know each other …”

“Well you know how Coyotes are?”

“Yeah, I guess. … If there is a 4th Coyote, would it be a girl or a boy or somewhere in between?”

“We all are somewhere in between.”

“Yeah, I know, but like right now you’re a ‘he’ and I’m a ‘she’, the 2nd Coyote is a ‘She’…”

“Naw, naw, the 2nd Coyote is a bear, or is it a rabbit?”

“Oh yeah, that can be confusing…”

“Hey look, I have to go and take the blame for why the Magpie won the Great Race. Don’t worry about it…”

“I’m not, I’m just…”

“OK, OK, I have to go. You know how Coyotes are.”

“Yeah, Yeah.”

“OK good. Bye!”

“Bye!”

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More Swill About My New Years Resolutions…

2019… Here we go… Once again I’m making a new years resolution to write… Every year for too many years now I have made glorious  proclamations to write, write more, write this for that, and write that for this… And I have failed for the most part with every declaration. … This time I will more and likely fail again, with numerous half ass’d excuses of why I did, but oh what the hell… I’m gonna do it again!

This time I’m going all out and resolving to write something every day … I’m already a day behind, so I’ll write 2 today and hope no one will notice. I decided to write something every day, even if it’s just swill, because last year I resolved to draw/scketch something every day even if it’s stick figures. And wouldn’t you know, I actually did draw/sketch something for each and every day.  It worked with that, so maybe it will work with this? Plus, there’s that concept that if you put a million monkeys on typewriters … ‘er … computers, that eventual one monkey will write something brilliant.  Maybe I can be that monkey and maybe in 365 days I can have 1 day of brilliance.

 

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The Unhealthy Consumer: When is it Enough? — MakeItUltra™ Psychology

Written by Dr. Perry, PhD “Too many people spend money they haven’t earned, to buy things they don’t want, to impress people they don’t like.” ~Will Rogers Wherever we look, we are constantly being fed the idea that we need more “stuff.” We have 24-hour television channels devoted entirely to entice us to buy more […]

via The Unhealthy Consumer: When is it Enough? — MakeItUltra™ Psychology

Damn The Christmas Wish List

I wrote a post before about my disdain of the Christmas Wish List. It might have been before WordPress, or even Facebook. I think I might have posted it on MySpace… Remember MySpace?

I’m certainly in the minority, or maybe the only one.

It’s fine for kids. Of course it’s great for kids. The whole ruse of if you’ve been good all year then Santa will reward you with the toys and things that you’ve wished for.  But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about adults, grown ups, not children…

There’s something fundamentally wrong about telling other people what gifts to buy you. I can’t say why it is, or break it down scientifically or morally or in any other way. Maybe not wrong, but unpleasantly weird.

For Christmas I want this thing and I want that thing, … but we can’t appear to be greedy or materialistic so we disguise it into a “wish list” and to make it more palatable we say to each other “Let’s all make a wish list so we know what to buy you and we all can get what we want” … Everyone smiles  “Oh what a great idea” … And then the race is on. …

I have to buy this for her. I have to buy that for him. Oh! this is what they’ve been looking for for last couple of months, but it’s not on their list. This is what they want but it’s not the right colour. They’re all out of this. And, ugh! I can’t afford that, but the set limit that everyone agreed on was 50 so I have to spend 50… Heaven forbid you get them something that wasn’t exactly what they had on their wish list…

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What would make the whole process easier is if we all went out and got what we wanted and just say that this one came from you, and that one came from you…

I was told that the dreaded wish list saves time. It’s easier. … Yeah, it does save time and it’s easier to say; “Ah, Fuck It. I just can’t be bothered to get to know you, and learn about all your likes and loves. I don’t want to waste my time to come up with a special gift  for you and you alone. So tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you. Merry Christmas!… Oh by the way, I want these things…”

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But this is how it is done these days. This is not only acceptable, but expected. Admit it. During the oh so jolly Christmas Season we think about all the things we want, and we are told what to get for everyone else. So with head down, eyes forward, we file into our ranks and march forward … I want this … They want that …

I thought that I might have escaped it. For years I just didn’t participate. Then a few years ago I met that special someone, and that special someone had a wonderful family that invited me to their Christmas celebrations which included a Secret Santa or Kris Kringle…

… I do love giving gifts. I know after reading this far it may not seem so, but I do. I love getting to know the person hearing all their stories. I like to think that I’m fairly industrious and creative, so I thoroughly enjoy making as much of the gift as I can so that it’s one of a kind. There’s such satisfaction and such amazing rewards putting together or creating that very special gift specifically for that one person. …

… So for 3 years I enjoyed the gift of giving. Planning through out the year, getting to know this beautiful family. … Then it was all ripped away, and I was already down the rabbit hole. … This year they decided to add a Christmas Wish List to the Kris Kringle. I couldn’t argue. I am only the girlfriend accessory rendering me at the moment merely temporary. This was a Family decision, rooted and permanent. I tried to give other options. “How about a list of things you absolutely don’t want?” “How about a short list of hobbies and interest?” … No … Just a list of what you want me to buy you. … It was too late, I couldn’t back out, so I have to go along with it.

So what do I do now? The person I got was very specific, even added money to make up the difference in the set limit and the price. … Am I really giving them a Christmas gift? Or did I just get hired to go out and do their shopping? Do I wrap it up in Christmas paper, ribbons and bows? Will they act surprise? “Oh! It’s what I’ve always wanted! You shouldn’t have!” … I shouldn’t have? Did I have the option? Do I fain excitement of giving them a gift they told me to get them?

They are still a Wonderfully Beautiful Family, but I’m so disappointed & heartbroken. How am I going to get through this without ripping out my soul? How am I going to get through this without offending them and still stay true to myself? I know that I don’t want to do this, but I’m already in it. And I’m hoping that next year there will be other things that will require my attention and attendance so that I won’t have to go through this again. But I will suck it up for now. I will be a good girlfriend, with my head down and eyes forward marching along. … I’ll write out my angst in this blog, taking comfort in knowing that nobody that I know will read this or read all of it, all the while figuring out how, figuring out a way…

 

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