The Little Words Mean the Most

Arrogance only serves the arrogant

 

 

Try to have as few of them in government as possible

if i cared

 

 

does any one

The Bride's Vows Were Different

 

"Until death do you part."

"Until death doth us part," Scott translated. Kind of the clearest indictment of heaven he knew: death would part us? Where's the love in that? Let it go, he reminded himself, raking his eyes over the medieval vaults. Scott was done. He was married. He stopped repeating the minister's words. More than a few sighs escaped. "Aw" murmured the congregation.

"Oh, that was perfect!" his sister whispered. "You are so lucky, Scott!"

He could almost hear her. She was a good encourager. A family brace. She'd always had loads of friends. Growing up, if Scott looked lonely to her, she'd assign some of her many friends to be nice to him, at least lightly. "Once a day, say hi. It will make Scott's day. You remember what it was like to be a freshman? You could be preventing a suicide!!!! No," [magic fingers ensued], "not Scott! Somebody. Spread the love."

Now he noticed. Odd: the bride's vows hadn't stopped at the same place. They were longer. Her vows asked for more.

"Amber, do you realize that people never really change?" the minister said. "That they will apologize and feel shame for their bad behavior. YET. They will continue to do the same irritating, inflaming, vile, disgusting, irrational acts over and over. Men are pigs.

"And do you understand that optimism is an unnatural condition? That fear and pessimism are Darwinian?"

Scott was glad he'd brought the chloroform, in a sealed plastic bag. Though he didn't disagree, this minister worried him. Boundary issues mostly. He seemed to be slowing down though.

 

Is every action equal, just a different context?

 

 

is today taking the trash to the curb the same

as a Viking in the 900s removing the head of a Saxon farmer, hoping to take over that acreage

 

 

 

 

How

    

can you look up at a starry night sky

the dust smudge crust rained away

without thinking

we are all in this together

that blue marble

YOU ARE HERE!

 

 

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what Chicago's telling itself post-Trump

Perditions of Wisteria Way ~ chapter 1

 

It made all the sense in the world.

It made no sense.

Depending on your point of view that frozen-cold morning in a rental apartment, trying to get two kids fed and out the door into safe hands and school.

They were cautiously optimistic.

They'd buy a house inside five years, they figured.

Maybe with some help from his uncle, Fat Jack. He wasn't physically fat. He just had a lot of money. They thought that was a bad idea. But keep every option open, she figured.

 

An itty-bit of a song

 

I've always been a Buddhist

A Buddhist with a crown

A Catholic who's a clown

A Baptist who's about to drown

Hand me that bag my darling

'Fraid I'm moving on

'Fraid I'm going down

'Fraid you're not mine

Yet I wish I wish you were

I wish I wish you were

So much I wish you were

 

 

A novel about giving up

 

she wondered

no

because she'd called her own bluff and she wasn't giving up ultimately (not her)

anyway maybe the attempt would be prophylactic and add something worthwhile maybe

to the human comedy files. Again: maybe

 

CHAPTER 1

 

She pulled her housecoat closer around her. What of it? She'd taken a sick day because she'd earned about a thousand of them.

Thought: If I've influenced just one other person in a better direction, just once in my life, I'm fully satisfied. And that was career. She also had kids.

They'd turned out nicely, too, thank you and due to a F.ing lot of hard work and sacrifices. No scary teens here finally. Thank goodness. Talk about privilege. Describe "mom privilege" = non-scary, grateful, kind, gentle, un-insulting, self-aware, modest, fascinating, sharing, only-semi-self-destructive-or-at-least-in-manageable-ways teens.

Exactly like we were. Only now we're responsible for them.

Which was why it didn't all ring true with her.

She'd done okay. Extraordinarily well? Does anyone think that?

Enough. She'd live off it for awhile. Ring the town bells: she'd already done just enough.

Until her next crisis of confidence, that would do.

 

Which suggested a different title, as she reached for the 5:01 martini she'd poured twenty long minutes ago:

 

Self-Esteem: A How-To

 

yeah

 

CHAPTER 2