Pushed Buttons

Its good to hear from you Cathy. Its been awhile. I hope you are well. I would love to see you.

You always have the special ability of pushing my buttons. I feel like I need to say a few things.

First, I mentioned the word "confused". I am confused at times, about things. But not about christianity. Not confused about that at all. It has been completely abandoned, and there are no questions left. I have my answers as far as that is concerned. Once again, I feel like one of my friends is looking at me like "come on Barb, you know you still believe, you are just upset", and they feel this way because it is hard for THEM to accept the fact that I don't believe anymore. You can accept the fact that I don't believe, or you can hold on to the idea that I still believe. Whatever you or anyone else chooses to believe about me doesn't change reality. I DO NOT BELIEVE. I'm sorry everyone has such a hard time with this.

Second, I am not jealous of the Eddlemons, of Clarks, or any family for that matter. You haven't been to the school since gradeschool. I had children there for years. I am not jealous, I am angry that a little girl was treated so badly. And that it happens over and over and is based on money and status. It is the unfairness and unkindness that evokes the reaction, not jealousy. I don't want anything they have. And I don't believe in heaven anymore, whether I have money or not to take there.

Sorry guys, still like Effedra. Its working well, and I'll just accept it as a challenge that I can do what I intend to do with its help. Effedra is still my friend. What is Lexapro? I have no idea what that is. What does it do?

Royce is not always a saint - but I love him immeasurably, unconditionally, and completely.

That is horrible about Jen's finger, I am so sorry. And your hand too. Was it your dog that did it? I can just see you bitch slapping that dog. Makes me smile.

Yes, its nice to think about our dads together. But I don't think they are. I believe my dad is gone forever. He is in the cold hard ground. And thats the only place he is. He is the way I saw him in the casket, only decomposing. Slowly. In his best church jacket and church pants, and the tie my mom picked out. He is laying there, 6 feet under, with his arms across his chest, and that grossly distorted smile that the funeral director permanently molded his face into. That smile that I will see till the day I die. The last time I saw my dad, it wasn't even him. He didn't look like that in real life. His hands are as cold and stiff as the last time I touched them. And my lipstick print is still on his forehead. I like to think it will stay there forever. I would never tell you how to believe when it comes to your father, but this is how I feel about mine. It would be nice to think there is the fairytale place that my dad is in right now, or on some cloud with a harp, or sitting up asleep on the couch with your dad. Its easy to believe this way. It is the easy way. But I don't think it exists. Its like Santa and the north pole. Please believe me, I would love to believe he is ok and in a beautiful place. But I don't.

Your dad asked you to nurture your spiritual gifts. This is what your dad asked of you.

My dad always asked me for honesty.

I am nurturing many many things.

Another night shift in.

Yesterday I was 175.

Namaste