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Sunday, August 14, 2011


Responses to Comments.

The Fuz: Everything is not alright. Most of everything is, but not all of it and not just because of my family.

Stephy: Dude, that sucks. I could not live if I were allergic to shrimp. D: My family didn't do anything besides be themselves. That sounds horrible. I love them to death, but I can only listen to my two little sisters bite each other's heads off and my brother egg them on for so long without going completely insane.

Thinking about Margaret again. What the hell happened to us?

And it's not just her this time. I've lost so many good friends over the years. Some moved. Some graduated and I lost all contact with. Some I was just stupid and didn't even bother to try.

If I go back, this is what I'm going back to:

FRIENDS DON'T GIVE FRIENDS ULCERS:

She rushes around the kitchen, a bee in a hive, banging amidst the pots and pans, as I die in the middle of the floor for the fourth time this week.
Once for The Father.
Twice for The Son.
Three times for The Holy Ghost.
Four Times for good measure;
But it doesn't matter, it's the same old song.
The same, old alternating:
"Love yourself; have some confidence!",
"You're horrible! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
Well, she never let me live in peace.
I don't know why I thought she'd let me die in it.
(Oh, "rest in pieces" never meant so much.)
My guts litter the floor.
She sweeps them up, throws them out, tells me to get up and help her mop my blood up off the linoleum;
she says: "Jesus is coming, Jesus is coming!" even though He's already been here for the past few hundred years.

When I don't move, she lets and sets her face to falling and says "Fine, but I'm not having you just lazing around like that when Jesus comes."
So she sweeps me up into the same dustpan as my guts and dumps it all out the window, into the ocean.
As I sink deep and let the water lull and lap my lungs to sleep, God swims up to me and whispers,
"Don't worry about it, honey. Dinner parties were never my thing either."

ily
~Belinda

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