I like to be open to people. I like it, I mean, right up until the point when it all goes bad. Then I want to run away. Sometimes you get into the conversation and then you say, "Oh! This is who you are. I had no idea. Please excuse me." Maybe someone, some enterprising lawyer, should invent a sort of contract, like a prenuptial agreement for conversations. If I ask you to sign, don't be offended. It takes all types of people to make the world go around. That does not, however, mean that you have to enjoy all of the different kinds. Appreciate? Maybe, but not enjoy. Wouldn't it be great if, just as the person starts into the third story about their favorite episode of Sex and the City or their favorite pair of shoes or these cute curtains they saw or the clerk at Starbucks who was "like, retarded or something," you could just pull out the contract and say, "It's nothing personal, but I'm contractually bound to stop listening to you at this point."
Did that last paragraph seem pissy? Maybe it was. I'm afraid that I'm a judgmental person at times. I just don't seem to be interested in the same things most of the rest of the world finds interesting. Things that make most people happy make me want to claw my eyes out. I probably have a brain tumor, or a bad attitude. I'm a polite driver, however. I always raise my pinky daintily when I shoot the bird, which probably changes the meaning altogether. I don't know.
It's back to school for the kids and for Susan. River's on the Sophomore JV football team in the Fall, an offensive tackle, and he's in the jazz band, piano, in the Spring. Robyn's at the top of her middle school, eighth grade. Rayn starts middle school, sixth grade, and also starts to learn the saxophone. Susan starts her last year of college (unless she goes on for a graduate degree later.) She'll graduate with an accounting degree in May, exactly twenty years after she graduated from high school. I threw her schedule off just a little when I came into her life, but I think it's worked out okay.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
