Well, it finally happened and I didn't see it coming. Just when you think you've moved on and have forgotten those who have hurt you repeatedly, there they are. DAMN YOU FACEBOOK!
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating just a little. There was a time in my life about 17 years ago that I made a stupid mistake--AGAIN--and I had hoped I wouldn't be reminded of it ever again. But, with modern technology, I should have known that you can never get away from your past. How many politicians and actors have woken up one morning and been informed of a picture from their past is all over the internet, making them rue the day they let that lover of theirs take the nude picture of them with whipped cream all over their bum? So, how could I expect to escape the past? If I had just kept off Facebook, I wouldn't be in this predicament.
But everyone I know is on Facebook. My family, my boyfriend, my co-workers--so what chance did I have? I couldn't possibly stay off it! So, I took the plunge and there I was, minding my own business. I had signed up some friends and family and didn't really think about it at all.
On March 29 of this year, a birthday greeting was posted on my page. I was astonished, terrified, sad and happy all at the same time. It was a simple happy birthday, but it was from someone I hadn't spoken to in a long time and had hoped I would never talk to again. Can you undo a greeting? Is there a way to hide once they've found you? It's like trying to put toothpaste back into the tube.
The story doesn't stop there. Yesterday, my long lost brother whom I have not spoken to in 13 years, pops up on Facebook and asks to be my friend. Friend? Are you kidding me? After what you did to your wife and kids? Gee, the surprises just keep on coming.
But sometimes, good thinks from your past catch up with you. The birthday greeting guy has a fabulous family that I lost when I kicked him to the curb. Now, because of him finding me, they have found me, too. I'm thrilled to be reunited with them. We're going to meet in July and I hope that we can start up being friends again.
As for my brother, time will tell. I have no reason to believe that he has changed over the years, so why would I want to be reunited with him? I have done a good job of limiting my family drama to just my daughter and grandkids. The last drama I had with my brother was enough to last a lifetime. And my poor boyfriend was dragged into it, too. I can't--no, won't--put him through that turmoil again, either.
So, the future holds many mysteries. Some of them are just the past catching up with you.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Winter is LONG Gone and Spring is Almost Ovah!
Well, it appears that my attempts at blogging on a regular basis have failed. Not failed miserably, I actually failed quite well! Finally, something I can brag about! I don't know how to blog regularly. Does this mean I'm blog constipated? What clears up a blog clog? Spouting obscenities about work, family, neighbors, life, politics....you name it? Braggin' on and on about the adorable grandkids we have? Bitching about the economy? What good would THAT do? Not only would I continue to be blog clogged, I'd have a migraine, too.
So, I'm going to talk about Mothers. It's approaching Mother's Day and I've known some real Mutha's in my day. My own was a piece of work--drunk most of the time, but I didn't realize that until I was a teenager. I thought ALL mothers smelled of beer when you came home from school! Beer and cigarettes. Eau de Trailer Park, no offense to those friends that I have that LIVE in mobile home parks. What a shame when my Dad and Mom would get all dressed up on a Saturday night to drive to "The City" for a play or a musical. I remember them bragging about seeing this unbelievable actress and singer named Eartha Kitt. She was in a play in SF and my parents couldn't stop talking about her for months. Of course, my mother's speech was a little more SLURRED than my dad's...
And the fights they would have! I remember one particular fight they had when I was in first grade. We lived in Mountain View in a middle class white neighborhood. Mom, Dad and three kids--the perfect family. But one night, Mom and Dad had been drinking and bickering all evening and then all hell broke loose. I remember hearing the sound of skin against skin when my Mom slapped my Dad across the face. I ran into the kitchen and saw my Dad pin my Mom against the refrigerator. I was horrified and yelled and hit him with my pudgy little hands. He stopped immediately and I never saw him put his hands on my mother in anger ever again.
But my Mom was only going to use that as ammunition. She was a vindictive bitch. She would hold a grudge until she died and believe me, she took a lot of those to her grave when she died nearly 5 years ago. She loved some people a LOT, as long as she could control them. That's it. That was the key. Hand all control of your life over to her you can live in her world.
Being the hardassed bitch I am (the old apple doesn't fall far from the tree crap), I decided to wait her out. And guess what? I won! I showed her! She DIED! HA! So there!
And now I have this legacy called grandkids and what do I do? Do I tell them wonderful stories about their great-grandmother who baked wonderful things in her magic oven? Do I try to explain about the savory meals she would make for us when she wasn't drunk? Holiday dinners when the good china was brought out and the sterling silver dinnerware was polished and used? The trips to Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm and to a stream up in the Santa Cruz mountains that had been dammed up to make a pool with a slide dumping you into the coldest water you will EVER feel in your life? My Mom playing bike tag with the kids on the street until she got her toe caught in the spokes of the wheel and broke her toe? How do I explain the changes in her when my parents got divorced and her neurosis got worse? The multiple times she "attempted" to commit suicide in front of us--scaring us out of our minds when there was really no danger at all...she just wanted attention from anyone she could reach out to. How she became this bitter old woman who would pretend to love you but didn't know the meaning of love. How my warm, caring sister tells me that it's such a relief that she doesn't have to call Mom on Sunday's any more and lsiten to all of the horrible guilt trips she would put on her.
And what kind of Mother did SHE make ME? I hope my daughter knows that I love her today as I always have--the only way I KNOW how to love her---with all of my heart. I wasn't a terrific mother. I wasn't the mother I wanted to be. But I was young, didn't have a good role model for a mother unless you counted Doris Day. So I did the best I could with what I had. I think I was a good mother. Not great, but a solid C.
And now, a few days before Mother's Day, I wish all of you Mothers out there a happy day. Take a day off from yelling at the kids, slapping upside their heads and threatening to kill them. Instead, take a deep breath, hold them tight and tell them you love them. And MEAN it.
So, I'm going to talk about Mothers. It's approaching Mother's Day and I've known some real Mutha's in my day. My own was a piece of work--drunk most of the time, but I didn't realize that until I was a teenager. I thought ALL mothers smelled of beer when you came home from school! Beer and cigarettes. Eau de Trailer Park, no offense to those friends that I have that LIVE in mobile home parks. What a shame when my Dad and Mom would get all dressed up on a Saturday night to drive to "The City" for a play or a musical. I remember them bragging about seeing this unbelievable actress and singer named Eartha Kitt. She was in a play in SF and my parents couldn't stop talking about her for months. Of course, my mother's speech was a little more SLURRED than my dad's...
And the fights they would have! I remember one particular fight they had when I was in first grade. We lived in Mountain View in a middle class white neighborhood. Mom, Dad and three kids--the perfect family. But one night, Mom and Dad had been drinking and bickering all evening and then all hell broke loose. I remember hearing the sound of skin against skin when my Mom slapped my Dad across the face. I ran into the kitchen and saw my Dad pin my Mom against the refrigerator. I was horrified and yelled and hit him with my pudgy little hands. He stopped immediately and I never saw him put his hands on my mother in anger ever again.
But my Mom was only going to use that as ammunition. She was a vindictive bitch. She would hold a grudge until she died and believe me, she took a lot of those to her grave when she died nearly 5 years ago. She loved some people a LOT, as long as she could control them. That's it. That was the key. Hand all control of your life over to her you can live in her world.
Being the hardassed bitch I am (the old apple doesn't fall far from the tree crap), I decided to wait her out. And guess what? I won! I showed her! She DIED! HA! So there!
And now I have this legacy called grandkids and what do I do? Do I tell them wonderful stories about their great-grandmother who baked wonderful things in her magic oven? Do I try to explain about the savory meals she would make for us when she wasn't drunk? Holiday dinners when the good china was brought out and the sterling silver dinnerware was polished and used? The trips to Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm and to a stream up in the Santa Cruz mountains that had been dammed up to make a pool with a slide dumping you into the coldest water you will EVER feel in your life? My Mom playing bike tag with the kids on the street until she got her toe caught in the spokes of the wheel and broke her toe? How do I explain the changes in her when my parents got divorced and her neurosis got worse? The multiple times she "attempted" to commit suicide in front of us--scaring us out of our minds when there was really no danger at all...she just wanted attention from anyone she could reach out to. How she became this bitter old woman who would pretend to love you but didn't know the meaning of love. How my warm, caring sister tells me that it's such a relief that she doesn't have to call Mom on Sunday's any more and lsiten to all of the horrible guilt trips she would put on her.
And what kind of Mother did SHE make ME? I hope my daughter knows that I love her today as I always have--the only way I KNOW how to love her---with all of my heart. I wasn't a terrific mother. I wasn't the mother I wanted to be. But I was young, didn't have a good role model for a mother unless you counted Doris Day. So I did the best I could with what I had. I think I was a good mother. Not great, but a solid C.
And now, a few days before Mother's Day, I wish all of you Mothers out there a happy day. Take a day off from yelling at the kids, slapping upside their heads and threatening to kill them. Instead, take a deep breath, hold them tight and tell them you love them. And MEAN it.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Welcome Autumn!
Summer winds down and Fall is coming. At least that's what the calendar says! Department stores have winter clothing stuffed on the racks, coats are on sale, sweaters are discounted and knee socks are cheaper than I've seen in years.
But do you think you could find another pair of shorts anywhere? According to the weather man (gosh I'd like to get him in a room alone some day and let him know just how many special occasions he's ruined by predicting sun and it rained), it's going to be over 100 degrees this weekend. It's nearly October and it's going to be 100! This is NUTS.
I was talking with my boyfriend about how the "weird" weather has now become "normal". We used to say that it was so weird for it to be hot so late in the season. Now, it's not weird, it's NORMAL.
I'm a cold weather gal. The more clothes I have on, the better I look and the better I feel about myself. Well, that was before menopause hit. Now, a short sleeved t-shirt and jeans make me sweat! But I can't sleep when it's hot. On the most recent cruise we went on we had a balcony room. Against the rules, we propped open the door all day and night. My fear of a shark leaping up 7 floors into our cabin went away the very first night we were there. The fresh, cool ocean air was so wonderful. My allergies went away, I slept like a baby and all was right with the world.
This December, when it's really cold and I'm complaining because my arthritis is acting up, remind me about this blog. Or, in December when it's still 100 degrees, remind me that it's not "weird", it's normal.
But do you think you could find another pair of shorts anywhere? According to the weather man (gosh I'd like to get him in a room alone some day and let him know just how many special occasions he's ruined by predicting sun and it rained), it's going to be over 100 degrees this weekend. It's nearly October and it's going to be 100! This is NUTS.
I was talking with my boyfriend about how the "weird" weather has now become "normal". We used to say that it was so weird for it to be hot so late in the season. Now, it's not weird, it's NORMAL.
I'm a cold weather gal. The more clothes I have on, the better I look and the better I feel about myself. Well, that was before menopause hit. Now, a short sleeved t-shirt and jeans make me sweat! But I can't sleep when it's hot. On the most recent cruise we went on we had a balcony room. Against the rules, we propped open the door all day and night. My fear of a shark leaping up 7 floors into our cabin went away the very first night we were there. The fresh, cool ocean air was so wonderful. My allergies went away, I slept like a baby and all was right with the world.
This December, when it's really cold and I'm complaining because my arthritis is acting up, remind me about this blog. Or, in December when it's still 100 degrees, remind me that it's not "weird", it's normal.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Kids, grandkids & other relatives
At 58, I have a grown daughter and two grandkids, 12 and 4. It's weird thinking my DNA is running through their body. Traits (good and bad) from my ancestors to them. How do I know if they got the good stuff or the bad? What if one of my ancestors gets ALL my bad habits and NONE of my good ones? Okay...insert wise-ass comment here......
Physical traits are weird enough, but personality traits are what really freak me out. How does that happen? Curly locks of hair the same color as mine until good ol' MN took over and Clairol responded...My nose on the face of a 12 year old girl who has the most beautiful chocolate skin I've ever seen....My chin on BOTH of the grandkids. If I live long enough (and they wait long enough), maybe I'll see yet another generation of children with my traits.
But, the personality traits have got to be reined in. I can't have another generation of kids walking this planet with my temper or my insatiable love of little dogs or my craving for Cake Batter Batter Batter ice cream from Cold Stone...or my ability to put on 10 pounds just walking by a bakery. But, to hear their voices, their laughter and know that I had a little to do with the PERSON they are, is an amazing feeling. The blood of our ancestors, even that escaped convict back in the early 1800's, flows through my veins and theirs.
Will they have my curly hair? Will they go prematurely gray? Will they sound like a teenager even though they're nearing 60? Will they be afraid of heights? Or will they take some of my exhusband's traits? Oh, please NO! It's been more than 30 years since we were married, but some of his traits still haunt me!
How much does their environment affect them? For instance, my daughter smokes. Neither I or my second husband smoked. Her dad smokes, but he wasn't around her much. She KNEW how much I hated smoking and yet she did it behind our backs for many years. Was it a factor of her environment or peer pressure? Will my granddaughter and grandson smoke because SHE does?
My granddaughter is slim and very athletic, unlike me. My grandson is the chubby one in his family, JUST like me. My granddaughter has beautiful high cheek bones. My grandson does not. How does the gene pool work? Is it just mixed up in the petri dish of a uterus and whatever happens, happens? Or is there some grand plan by the man upstairs so that we are so diverse that sometimes people don't look related at all?
If the answer is it's His plan, then next time around, may I please have the SLIM body genes? High cheek bones would be nice, but the slim genes are enough. Honest.
Physical traits are weird enough, but personality traits are what really freak me out. How does that happen? Curly locks of hair the same color as mine until good ol' MN took over and Clairol responded...My nose on the face of a 12 year old girl who has the most beautiful chocolate skin I've ever seen....My chin on BOTH of the grandkids. If I live long enough (and they wait long enough), maybe I'll see yet another generation of children with my traits.
But, the personality traits have got to be reined in. I can't have another generation of kids walking this planet with my temper or my insatiable love of little dogs or my craving for Cake Batter Batter Batter ice cream from Cold Stone...or my ability to put on 10 pounds just walking by a bakery. But, to hear their voices, their laughter and know that I had a little to do with the PERSON they are, is an amazing feeling. The blood of our ancestors, even that escaped convict back in the early 1800's, flows through my veins and theirs.
Will they have my curly hair? Will they go prematurely gray? Will they sound like a teenager even though they're nearing 60? Will they be afraid of heights? Or will they take some of my exhusband's traits? Oh, please NO! It's been more than 30 years since we were married, but some of his traits still haunt me!
How much does their environment affect them? For instance, my daughter smokes. Neither I or my second husband smoked. Her dad smokes, but he wasn't around her much. She KNEW how much I hated smoking and yet she did it behind our backs for many years. Was it a factor of her environment or peer pressure? Will my granddaughter and grandson smoke because SHE does?
My granddaughter is slim and very athletic, unlike me. My grandson is the chubby one in his family, JUST like me. My granddaughter has beautiful high cheek bones. My grandson does not. How does the gene pool work? Is it just mixed up in the petri dish of a uterus and whatever happens, happens? Or is there some grand plan by the man upstairs so that we are so diverse that sometimes people don't look related at all?
If the answer is it's His plan, then next time around, may I please have the SLIM body genes? High cheek bones would be nice, but the slim genes are enough. Honest.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Food,food everywhere and not a bite to eat
From looking at me, you'd realize I haven't missed many meals in my life. So why can I have a frig full of food and nothing sounds edible? Bread, eggs, cheese, onions potatoes, bacon...and I want to go get something from a fast food place. On a cruise off the coast of Mexico with all kinds of food readily available and all I can think of is food from Taco Bell. Hell, under normal circumstances, I don't go to TB at all! So what is it that affects your brain to NEED a particular food?
Okay, I'll confess. Carl's Jr has a great item on their menu that I can't resist...chocolate malts made with REAL ice cream and blended like a real shake. I am so addicted to them that I was stopping after work everyday to get one. I'd drink it down so fast that a brain freeze was inevitable. Some nights I wouldn't eat dinner. I would try to force myself to get on the freeway and avoid the evil drink. Then I would remember that there are two other Carl's on my way home. I was out of control!!
I am happy to say that I think I got the chocolate malt monkey off my back. I'm down to one or two demon shakes a week now. I don't try to deliberately drive by a Carl's on my way home. Now, I'm moving on to Cold Stone Creamery and their Cake Batter Cake Batter ice cream in quart size containers pre-packed for your convenience...
Okay, I'll confess. Carl's Jr has a great item on their menu that I can't resist...chocolate malts made with REAL ice cream and blended like a real shake. I am so addicted to them that I was stopping after work everyday to get one. I'd drink it down so fast that a brain freeze was inevitable. Some nights I wouldn't eat dinner. I would try to force myself to get on the freeway and avoid the evil drink. Then I would remember that there are two other Carl's on my way home. I was out of control!!
I am happy to say that I think I got the chocolate malt monkey off my back. I'm down to one or two demon shakes a week now. I don't try to deliberately drive by a Carl's on my way home. Now, I'm moving on to Cold Stone Creamery and their Cake Batter Cake Batter ice cream in quart size containers pre-packed for your convenience...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
What constitutes an addiction?
I rushed back to the office today so I could blog during my lunch hour. I'm sitting here eating homemade fried rice (thanks, Sweetie) and blogging. If you had told me a week ago that I'd be doing this, I'd have called you a few choice names and advised you to see a shrink.
But does this mean I'm addicted to blogging? I mean, it's sorta like the days when I rushed home from working in retail (12 hour days were nothing) and headed for the freezer for my ice cold bottle of Stoli. Back then few people knew what Stoli WAS, let alone that it was one of the best vodkas hard earned money could buy. Kamikaze's were my drink of choice and I loved them served in a martini glass, only one or two ice cubes. After the second one, I'd lay down on the couch to watch TV and fall asleep. This was a habit of mine and one that I embraced. My daughter was about 13 or so when she came to me and told me she was worried I was becoming an alcoholic, like her grandmother. WOW, what a shock to the system. Two drinks makes me an alcoholic? Or was it the routine that I was addicted to? I realized that I was in the same pattern as my mother. She "only" drank beer or wine, so she couldn't be an alcoholic. At least that was what she always told us. We never bought it and, eventually, she died alone in a hospital that kept calling my brother to come quick because she wasn't going to make it "this time". That phone call had come so many times to him and me that neither of us would ever believe it really WAS the truth. Well, until this time. So the patterns that she had created over the years of crying wolf, hiding her drinking and alienating her children became HER addiction. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.
I stopped drinking back when my daughter told me she was afraid I was becoming my mother. That scared me and I stopped. Cold. I started up again years later, but never fell back into that routine of coming home from work, drinking and passing out. Well, until recently.....
The job, the career I've chosen (or it chose me), is stressful. A LOT of stress. Not the kind of life threatening stress like firefighters or police officers have that comes with adrenaline. Just the kind of stress that allows idiotic people to call and threaten you on the phone or by email that if I don't do what THEY want me to do, something bad will happen. I don't know about you, but I don't respond well to threats. The brat in me wants to say "Oh, yeah? What're you going to do about it? You can't MAKE me!!!" But then the adult in me makes a quick appearance and I realize that my income is responsible for keeping the roof over our heads, food on the table and all of the other necessities like DVR, On Demand, wireless internet, two cars, a mortgage that is 45% higher than the value of the home....you get the idea. So, the adult in me takes over completely and I try to find a reasonable solution that everyone can be happy with.
But I don't go home and have a drink and fall asleep on the couch. First of all, the meds I'm on prevent me from absorbing copious amounts of alcohol. Secondly, the beagles have taken over the couch. So, I pop my evening batch of meds and head to the bedroom for a nap before dinner. Sometimes I don't eat dinner because the sleep is so much nicer and I can afford to miss about a week of dinners every week for a month!
So, am I now addicted to the naps? The quiet time? Not speaking witih ANYONE for a few hours? Addicted to Judge Judy or the latest celebrity garbage on TMZ? Snuggling with the Maltoodle while she licks my face?
Or am I now becoming addicted to blogging? Rushing back to the office, eating fried rice at my desk....is this Day 1 of a new addiction? And what would be the cure? Do I care?
But does this mean I'm addicted to blogging? I mean, it's sorta like the days when I rushed home from working in retail (12 hour days were nothing) and headed for the freezer for my ice cold bottle of Stoli. Back then few people knew what Stoli WAS, let alone that it was one of the best vodkas hard earned money could buy. Kamikaze's were my drink of choice and I loved them served in a martini glass, only one or two ice cubes. After the second one, I'd lay down on the couch to watch TV and fall asleep. This was a habit of mine and one that I embraced. My daughter was about 13 or so when she came to me and told me she was worried I was becoming an alcoholic, like her grandmother. WOW, what a shock to the system. Two drinks makes me an alcoholic? Or was it the routine that I was addicted to? I realized that I was in the same pattern as my mother. She "only" drank beer or wine, so she couldn't be an alcoholic. At least that was what she always told us. We never bought it and, eventually, she died alone in a hospital that kept calling my brother to come quick because she wasn't going to make it "this time". That phone call had come so many times to him and me that neither of us would ever believe it really WAS the truth. Well, until this time. So the patterns that she had created over the years of crying wolf, hiding her drinking and alienating her children became HER addiction. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.
I stopped drinking back when my daughter told me she was afraid I was becoming my mother. That scared me and I stopped. Cold. I started up again years later, but never fell back into that routine of coming home from work, drinking and passing out. Well, until recently.....
The job, the career I've chosen (or it chose me), is stressful. A LOT of stress. Not the kind of life threatening stress like firefighters or police officers have that comes with adrenaline. Just the kind of stress that allows idiotic people to call and threaten you on the phone or by email that if I don't do what THEY want me to do, something bad will happen. I don't know about you, but I don't respond well to threats. The brat in me wants to say "Oh, yeah? What're you going to do about it? You can't MAKE me!!!" But then the adult in me makes a quick appearance and I realize that my income is responsible for keeping the roof over our heads, food on the table and all of the other necessities like DVR, On Demand, wireless internet, two cars, a mortgage that is 45% higher than the value of the home....you get the idea. So, the adult in me takes over completely and I try to find a reasonable solution that everyone can be happy with.
But I don't go home and have a drink and fall asleep on the couch. First of all, the meds I'm on prevent me from absorbing copious amounts of alcohol. Secondly, the beagles have taken over the couch. So, I pop my evening batch of meds and head to the bedroom for a nap before dinner. Sometimes I don't eat dinner because the sleep is so much nicer and I can afford to miss about a week of dinners every week for a month!
So, am I now addicted to the naps? The quiet time? Not speaking witih ANYONE for a few hours? Addicted to Judge Judy or the latest celebrity garbage on TMZ? Snuggling with the Maltoodle while she licks my face?
Or am I now becoming addicted to blogging? Rushing back to the office, eating fried rice at my desk....is this Day 1 of a new addiction? And what would be the cure? Do I care?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Should I apologize?
Okay, my boyfriend said I may have offended some of the people I work with by my previous blog. If any of you read just the first line and were offended, I'm sorry...that you didn't read the rest of the blog!! Geez, I wasn't referring to YOU when I said I work with idiots....but gosh if you don't READ I can't be held responsible!
Life is short, they say. I don't know who "they" are, but they're wrong. There are weeks when I know I've lived too long. You know, the weeks you have 35 checks bounce at the bank, the IRS says they want to be your BFF and to show how much our relationship is worth, why not send $500 a month to cement it forever, when every last bone in your body decides it's going on strike and the union agrees with them...then your carpal tunnel starts acting up and you can't feel the keys under your fingers... Hell, it feels like life was about two days too long!
Then the gods decide to REALLY mess with you and start showing you all the wonderful things life has to offer... 8 deer running along the road who stop to look at you, a wild turkey that spreads it's tail feathers to impress you and a picture of your grandson playing with his "cooter" because he can't say "s" yet...and you want to yell at the top of your lungs "NO, NOT YET!!! THERE'S TOO MUCH LEFT TO DO!!!"
If I wake tomorrow, which day will it be?
Life is short, they say. I don't know who "they" are, but they're wrong. There are weeks when I know I've lived too long. You know, the weeks you have 35 checks bounce at the bank, the IRS says they want to be your BFF and to show how much our relationship is worth, why not send $500 a month to cement it forever, when every last bone in your body decides it's going on strike and the union agrees with them...then your carpal tunnel starts acting up and you can't feel the keys under your fingers... Hell, it feels like life was about two days too long!
Then the gods decide to REALLY mess with you and start showing you all the wonderful things life has to offer... 8 deer running along the road who stop to look at you, a wild turkey that spreads it's tail feathers to impress you and a picture of your grandson playing with his "cooter" because he can't say "s" yet...and you want to yell at the top of your lungs "NO, NOT YET!!! THERE'S TOO MUCH LEFT TO DO!!!"
If I wake tomorrow, which day will it be?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)