My Left Foot

As I was cleaning up my ridiculously-sad-looking toenails following a later-than-usual shower this morning, after a marathon polishing session with my daughter this evening past, it occured to me that my depressed tootsie nails looked significantly worse than my right hand fingernails that have been styled by my so-not-dominant left hand. (Now, there's a sentence for you!) Which brings us, at last, to my finely-whittled point: my toenails are so poorly-polish-covered, they appear to have been saloned by, not my left hand, but, rather, my left foot.

(Feel free to read this entry again - it's tough to resist, I know.)

I would say

No. We cannot reconcile. I am a different person, not the weak and weepy child you turned me into; that is not me anymore. I cannot abide your lies and your lack of emotion and your bullying. I cannot be around the evil; it makes me evil too. I have a soul and eternity to worry about; so, I must first worry about my life in the present. If I could, this is what I would have said when I was the child you would not defend: no.

So, the haze is beginning to fade, ever so slightly. The tunnel is not quite so gloomy; I'm still in it, but can see that there may, possibly be a way out. I am not quite convinced, however, but there is, at least, hope now.

Laugh track

I think that I need to know that I am appreciated...I need to know that people think I'm funny....maybe I need to be appreciated for more than being funny, but maybe I'm not...funny, I mean...or appreciated. I think that I will need to want something else, something that maybe I can actually get.