Monday, December 16, 2013

Next in line Ungrateful Bitch Stories

I have my writing on the wall. Now I need to layer case file notes, pictures, letters- no small stack.  

I don’t want to get this out of me.  I want to walk away and ignore it some more.  If only I could throw it up.  Get it over and out like a 24 hour bug, oh yeah baby.  I’d do that.

I’m tired of the weight of it.  How many times to I have to read that the truth will set you free, and yet before the free is some serious horror, with attendant grief and sadness. M
y neighbor warned me not to go too far down the rabbit hole.  Too late it seems.  I grew up in the rabbit hole, so how could a walk down memory lane be any more disorienting?    

I’ll start with recent notes to myself:

“The truth makes me an ungrateful bitch.  Get over it.  
I have to tell the Next in line ungrateful bitch story.  And then  the next.  
What am I avoiding most?  Dive in.  
Ungrateful bitch stories.  
I whored myself for experience and education.  
This section spans the end of book one and the beginning of book two.”

Jesus, just get this out of me.  
Point a Browning Hi-Power at my intellectual capital and threaten something; something bad.  Like having to befriend my actual mother.  My dad still has me all wound up about that, and he’s dead.

I’m an ungrateful bitch.  I know I’m an grateful bitch too, but I have to get through the ungrateful parts first it seems.  It’s just so impolite to be so ungrateful and tell my truth.  It really is, and I’m getting over it, through it, under it, around it, above it and it’s a shit ton of work.
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