It seems to be an endless read, including the comments.
Nan, I was told, had stood on a chair in the kitchen, to change a light bulb, and the chair collapsed underneath her, resulting in a broken hip, which led to her death. I wonder, if Deb set that 'accident' up. The timing of it was shortly after Nan had begun to pay me some positive attention. There's a pattern of fatalities following a positive interaction with a human or animal.
A canary we had, Pete, used to sing beautifully for me, and would run after me on the floor with my socks off...
Another time I believe Deb, my adoptive sister, tried to off me, I remember I was descending the stairs to the basement, and I saw down below, Deb's bare beautifully tanned right shoulder, and her long luscious brown hair. She had her back to me and was standing in the doorway to where dad's work table and my little play room was, so that I could only see her shoulder and half of her back. I figured she might be reading one of her Nancy Drew murder mysteries.
I continue on down the stairs,...
I spent a lot of time in the basement watching television in my first 8 years. The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Tarzan, cartoons, and old fashioned wrestling were mostly what I watched. I wanted to follow my older sister Deb around, but she wasn't having it. She hated me, I now realize.
The only time I remember having anyone over, Steve, I went under the basement stairs where I had a pretend house, and I noticed that the lamp was strangely unplugged. So I wrapped my little hand round...
I've been pondering writing about my life. I guess I would start at birth. I was adopted at 2 weeks old supposedly, in Montreal. I was told that the maternity ward that birthed me burned down along with all records.
The people who adopted me weren't emotionally savvy. Under their naive noses their other adoptee would attempt to kill me by a variety of means, but she was thought of by our mother as the good child. She was four years older than I. I suspect our father sensed Deb was mean, but...
I've been roofied. So I guess that's why I have such strong feelings about Cosby. It happened to me twice. I'm glad he's in jail now.
His spokesman is trying to turn it into a race war.
for I'm Not A Man. Great album, that World Peace Is None Of Your Business
Some would know me as redpathetic. I don't have my password anymore. This site is different now. It's been a long time since I've posted.
" A gift is not weighed and measured, nor can it be bought. It can’t be expected or demanded; rather it is granted, or else not. In theological terms it’s a grace, proceeding from the fullness of being. " Margaret Atwood
""She walks in beauty, like the blight," says Boyce with sympathy. "Byron." "Margaret Atwood, in The Robber Bride
""I can't forget about him," says Charis in a tiny voice. How can she just sit here and let Zenia tear Billy to shreds? The memory of Billy. If that goes, what does she have left of all that time? Nothing. A void. " Atwood, The Robber Bride
""But why?" says Charis helplessly. "Why did you?" She feels so defrauded - defrauded of her own willingness to be of service. Such a...
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