I guess I'm not done yet. Still an urge to blog. I'm kind of in a bad spot. Yeah. I went to the grocery store last night--the little birds in the nest are starting to get restless over no offering of worms--but cried in the parking lot and didn't go inside. I wanted to cry some more. One song on the radio brought me way up and the next dropped me down. Way down. With my memories falling with me--maybe they cushioned the blow.

I wanted to feel bad. I was comfortable feeling bad. I was raised to feel bad. Everyone I know, even the happy ones, feel bad. Except for Melanie's older sister. I saw her at the mall before Christmas. She looks like a blond me, now that I'm skinny, and has four kids--one with a disability--to my three. Four kids! She works full time and pays most of it to her babysitter. Why? Because she knows herself. "You know me, Barb," she said. "I have to go, go, go." DID I know her like that? I knew her to have an original style and a thing for Jane's Addiction, Michael Jacson, and makeup. If go, go, go meant away from the norm, then I knew her. Did I know me? Did she?

The last time I quit life was when I couldn't get in my car for work. I hardly left my mom's house for a year and a half and hated myself for it. I feel like quitting again, suspended in time like a fish on a dock* who's finished flapping around but isn't dead yet.

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*I corrected my grammar (who's and whose) and rearranged that last sentence--you know, the important one. I make more trouble for myself by not reaching over to my right, I don't even have to bend, to pick up my Gregg reference manual. I thank you all for your patience with me. Really. And I need it right now.