Jr., We Hardly Knew Ye


Apparently Jr. is dying of consumption. She is sleeping on her roof and coughing blood delicately into a lace-edged handkerchief. Her dying wish is a new post, so here it is.

Life here has been god awful and I waved the white flag today and started back up on the meds. Don't think kids would have survived my insane rages much longer. They come out of nowhere like a tornado, touch down, leave havoc, and then spin off again. Without meds I am my mother

The boy ran away from home at the beginning of the week, and instigated a pile on after a football game over the weekend that freaked out the younger kid on the bottom of the pile...angry words between parents, gah. Oh and I found out BFI was sleeping with hookers when we were married, and doing drugs. And has herpes.

Finally filed my taxes. Hurray for online filing, and enough refund money for a new computer. My mother bought me the one I'm on and that was in 1999. Looked for new clothes for the girl. Her requirements: no pink, no purple, no cartoons or sayings, no hearts, polka dots, or any kind of pattern besides stripes, no ruffles, so ties, no bows, and why can't I buy her shirts from the boy's dept? Why oh why does my blue eyed baby bunny want to dress like a boy?

Jogi is back from NZ. I am going out to Portland again this summer. Very happy about that, we're going to spend a few days on the beach this time.

Okay, Jr. I'm done posting and now I am going to put on my pajamas and read Jung because the kids are playing Wii and won't give me the TV.

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—

Emily Dickinson