This has been an interesting week, all told, despite several hours of boredom being part of it throughout.
This past Sunday evening, as we were relaxing at the end of a quiet day (of still coughing, etc.) I ended up having a bout of chest pain which I though was likely my stomach until it radiated up both sides of my neck, into my jaw and face, and caused a lot of nausea in addition to the pain. This took place over about half an hour and it was at least an hour before I started to feel better, but the episode did resolve itself so I did not head for the ER or call my doctor until Monday morning, when he told me to go in to the ER to get checked out. Of course by then I was feeling fine, but the episode had frightened me enough that I only protested weakly before I followed his advice and went into the emergency room. Many hours, blood tests, EKGs, blood pressures, and pulses later, I was admitted to the hospital for overnight observation and a chemical stress test the following day (Tuesday). I would not recommend the stress test too lightly as it was not a pleasant experience, but it did give the doctors the information they needed, that whatever had caused the pain was not my heart, and I am now back home, a little worse for the wear, but very relieved. I had no idea that an esophogus could spasm, but that is one of the possible reasons for the pain I had Sunday evening. Now, on to the more important parts of this missive.
My Dad came over to the hospital to be with me while I was having the stress test because even though I am fifty years old I am still a woose and a wimp and wanted him there in case anything was wrong and so forth. After getting back to my room "looking stressed," as my Dad put it, we talked for awhile and then he reminded me of something. It was the eighth anniversary, to the day, of my mother's death and the third anniversary, also to the day, of the day Patty received her leukemia diagnosis. My poor Dad! Sitting waiting to find out if another daughter was in dire straights with all of that on his mind and heart! Fortunately, this time it was better news in that my heart is, apparently, very sound and quite healthy for someone of my age and weight (I assume). So at least there was no horrid news for Dad on this date, yet again. It was so good to have him there with me during all of the stresses of the day. I do not want to think of any time when he might not be there. No matter how old I get I will always want my Dad, especially when things get scary like they were Monday and Tuesday. (In his defense, Ross had to work, with the emphasis placed in the extreme on the phrase "had to.")
It may seem odd that I had to be reminded of the date my Mom died and that it was also the date my sister received what turned out to be her death sentance, but I have had a great deal of trouble over the past several years recalling the month and day of Mom's death, although I remember clearly that it is the same anniversary of Patty's leukemia news. For awhile I had trouble even recalling the year Mom died (2001), though now that is no longer an issue. I think I may be able to retain the month and day from now on, too. I guess, in my heart, it was not the date we had to say "goodbye" that was important to retain in memory, only the "goodbye" itself.
To Mom, After Eight Years
A brief moment, and my heart still beats,
While thoughts of you grow ever gentler
Tracing themselves softly over those sore places
Where once so much agony existed.
A thought, a sigh, a brief regret
That memory is so fickle as to fade over time,
And a slow tear for the memory remaining
Of your face, your voice, your funny manner,
Your smile, your love, your courage and
Your feistiness runs down the course of my
Aging cheek and onto my chin.
How I still love you, Mom,
And miss you.
I will always long for you throughout
The years to come
And hope, endlessly hope,
That at journey's end
You will be there
To help lead me home.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Venture Into Fiction (for a change!)
(This is the idea for a short story I got this evening so I thought I would start writing here in my blog and see where the exercise and mood took me. Hope it proves to be at least somewhat amusing for anyone reading my stuff...)
Return to Sender - Cyberaddress Unknown
Initially, it did not seem unusual. A misdirected email was not something that never happened, afterall. And with a common name ("Jane Doe" was more memorable) it was not unusual to receive several misdirected or mass generated advertising emails within a fairly short span of time. So what was it about this one that had grabbed her attention?
Email, usually so impersonal and free from the emotional baggage of telephone conversation, was easily deleted and forgotten. Most email was spam or junk anyway, so why keep this one on the computer; why open it and read it? What was it about that email that drew her eyes to the screen?
Somehow, despite the depersonalization of all of the more modern forms of communication, despite the delightful anonymity offered by a keyboard and computer screen, this email stood out. It was not bookmarked, earmarked, marked for any sort of automatic response and did not request a response from the reader prior to reading or upon receipt. It asked no acknowledgement whatsoever, in computer savvy terms at least. The only discrepancy in the address was in the little "a" thingy (or is that an ampersand? Or is an ampersand the backwards s-like sqiggle whatsit used for "and" instead of "at" in email addresses?) used for "at" in the email; address itself. Her middle initial was a "A." which was de-capitalized by the system into a lower case "a" in her email address and placed immediately before the little "at" thingy. Someone had mistyped the address to include the lower case "a" and then added the other whatsit not realizing they should have deleted the "a" before hitting send - or so she assumed, not able to fathom any other reason for the arrival in her emailbox of the cybermissive instead of the obviously-not-her intended recipient.
Finally, after all of this not very useful speculative cognition, she realized that the fascination of this email, aside from her pathetically slow and boring existence at the moment, was that it arrived spattered in blood and mystery, a mystery far beyond any issue of address or misdirection. It was plaintive; a cry for help, a dying word, a final "I love you," uttered upon the airwaves. It was the last breathe of a soul reaching out to the only one who cared or could possibly save them. Her mind raced with the possible explainations, her imagination running wild with the unspoken potentialities of this short electronic cypher: "It's over. We've won. My only regret is never seeing you again. My lips are yours forever..." The sending email address had somehow been blocked, leaving no way to return a message or trace a sender. She suddenly felt like the heroine in a very badly written romance novel of questionable literary value; utterly bereft but with pulse still pounding.
Catching her breath for a moment, she shook her head and tried to regain some small vestige of a sense of reality. It would not do to spend the rest of the day walking around in a mental haze made up of too many Harlequin romance novels and late nights spent chain-reading them until 4 am. Perhaps it was the physical restraint of the email that brought all of this out in her. In these more modern times blunt sexuality was more usual on the internet than the subtlety of a statement like "My lips are yours forever..." Feeling mildly frustrated that the author of the email was too polite to have been a little more graphic, but still immensely curious, she set out to see if her server could pry loose any information as to the origins of the email. She knew it was not intended for her and thereby felt some small pang of guilt at this obvious violation of the sender's, and the intended recipient's, privacy, but she comforted herself with the thought that she was really just trying to get the message delivered to the proper address without stopping to think of the multitude of possible consequences meddling with such a personal and obviously anonymous email could bring. Life can be a series of hard lessons, even on the brightest days.
_________________*****
This is as far as I have gotten. I'm not sure whether I want to finish the story or not, but will try to do that here in my blog in case there is any curiosity about the ending - which is currently undecided.
We have been trying to recover from virii of varying types here in the mean time and take turns coughing and gurggling and blowing our noses. Our ears are kind of stopped up, too, so the cacophony (I really like this word!) of coughing is tolerable and at least we are able to manage some sleep at night. The cats sleep no matter what and do not have colds. I am jealous.
There is so much to do it all seems to coalesce into one large and unmanageable tangle that takes more energy than I often have to untangle, but things do get accomplished despite the perspective, just not as rapidly as we often wish we could accomplish them. Oh well.
Hopefully, those who may encounter this blog are healthier, more energetic, and much better organized than we are right now.
Blessings,
Izzlebug
Return to Sender - Cyberaddress Unknown
Initially, it did not seem unusual. A misdirected email was not something that never happened, afterall. And with a common name ("Jane Doe" was more memorable) it was not unusual to receive several misdirected or mass generated advertising emails within a fairly short span of time. So what was it about this one that had grabbed her attention?
Email, usually so impersonal and free from the emotional baggage of telephone conversation, was easily deleted and forgotten. Most email was spam or junk anyway, so why keep this one on the computer; why open it and read it? What was it about that email that drew her eyes to the screen?
Somehow, despite the depersonalization of all of the more modern forms of communication, despite the delightful anonymity offered by a keyboard and computer screen, this email stood out. It was not bookmarked, earmarked, marked for any sort of automatic response and did not request a response from the reader prior to reading or upon receipt. It asked no acknowledgement whatsoever, in computer savvy terms at least. The only discrepancy in the address was in the little "a" thingy (or is that an ampersand? Or is an ampersand the backwards s-like sqiggle whatsit used for "and" instead of "at" in email addresses?) used for "at" in the email; address itself. Her middle initial was a "A." which was de-capitalized by the system into a lower case "a" in her email address and placed immediately before the little "at" thingy. Someone had mistyped the address to include the lower case "a" and then added the other whatsit not realizing they should have deleted the "a" before hitting send - or so she assumed, not able to fathom any other reason for the arrival in her emailbox of the cybermissive instead of the obviously-not-her intended recipient.
Finally, after all of this not very useful speculative cognition, she realized that the fascination of this email, aside from her pathetically slow and boring existence at the moment, was that it arrived spattered in blood and mystery, a mystery far beyond any issue of address or misdirection. It was plaintive; a cry for help, a dying word, a final "I love you," uttered upon the airwaves. It was the last breathe of a soul reaching out to the only one who cared or could possibly save them. Her mind raced with the possible explainations, her imagination running wild with the unspoken potentialities of this short electronic cypher: "It's over. We've won. My only regret is never seeing you again. My lips are yours forever..." The sending email address had somehow been blocked, leaving no way to return a message or trace a sender. She suddenly felt like the heroine in a very badly written romance novel of questionable literary value; utterly bereft but with pulse still pounding.
Catching her breath for a moment, she shook her head and tried to regain some small vestige of a sense of reality. It would not do to spend the rest of the day walking around in a mental haze made up of too many Harlequin romance novels and late nights spent chain-reading them until 4 am. Perhaps it was the physical restraint of the email that brought all of this out in her. In these more modern times blunt sexuality was more usual on the internet than the subtlety of a statement like "My lips are yours forever..." Feeling mildly frustrated that the author of the email was too polite to have been a little more graphic, but still immensely curious, she set out to see if her server could pry loose any information as to the origins of the email. She knew it was not intended for her and thereby felt some small pang of guilt at this obvious violation of the sender's, and the intended recipient's, privacy, but she comforted herself with the thought that she was really just trying to get the message delivered to the proper address without stopping to think of the multitude of possible consequences meddling with such a personal and obviously anonymous email could bring. Life can be a series of hard lessons, even on the brightest days.
_________________*****
This is as far as I have gotten. I'm not sure whether I want to finish the story or not, but will try to do that here in my blog in case there is any curiosity about the ending - which is currently undecided.
We have been trying to recover from virii of varying types here in the mean time and take turns coughing and gurggling and blowing our noses. Our ears are kind of stopped up, too, so the cacophony (I really like this word!) of coughing is tolerable and at least we are able to manage some sleep at night. The cats sleep no matter what and do not have colds. I am jealous.
There is so much to do it all seems to coalesce into one large and unmanageable tangle that takes more energy than I often have to untangle, but things do get accomplished despite the perspective, just not as rapidly as we often wish we could accomplish them. Oh well.
Hopefully, those who may encounter this blog are healthier, more energetic, and much better organized than we are right now.
Blessings,
Izzlebug
Friday, February 06, 2009
Emerging From the Mists
It has been happening gradually, but it is happening...I am becoming less and less depressed over time with the help of medication and counseling. It seemed a bit frightening at first. I really did not know how to exist any other way as it seems I have probably spent the better portion of my life in a somewhat depressive state. This is probably one of the reasons the unhappy memories of my childhood have always seemed at the forefront and I have always had to fight to recall and retain the moments of happiness I know were a part of my life as a child - I have seen the photographs and home movies (silent on 8mm film) and I am smiling and playing in most of them. Certainly more potent evidence than the bitter or sad memories for which no photographic or written records exist. Even the poetry and stories I wrote were happier than I can recall feeling most of the time. The mind can be such a strange dwelling place.
This is not what I initially set out to record today. It occurred to me as I signed in to my blog to write "the other" something, but it is a more cheerful and less naughty something than what I will be mentioning shortly and I think it sets a more cheerful tone for the entire entry than otherwise would have proven to be the case.
The reason this topic springs so readily to mind is because over the past several days, despite some health issues that I have had to deal with (sigh, sigh, sigh!), my thoughts have been turning more toward the writing of poetry and this blog. I have also been drawn more and more to certain books that I thought looked interesting but have not had the mental energy to cope with until now. It seems I am waking up with the approach of Spring, and it does not feel as if it will be a rude awakening in any sense, but a release of old shackles; bonds of a lifetime held hostage by grief, sorrow, bitterness, anger, self-pity, fear,...thank God for the love and strength that grew despite all of that adversty of spirit!
Now, on to the fun stuff. I wanted to let all of you know that I got "tongued" the other day as I drove over to our veterinarians. Now you have to realize that I am fat and fifty and have been around the block (so to speak) a few times, so I was not so much shocked as just, "Oh, puh-lease!" The young woman who did the tonguing was not the driver of the car (which was sort of a scrunched looking SUV type of vehicle) and looked like she lived to have sex with anything as long as it was on a ski slope somewhere. When I got to our vets (to pick up IV fluids for our kidney failure kitties) I asked the receptionist (who has been there longer than we have been taking our cats there) if there was some sort of colony of wild and rabid lesbians living in the area and told her what had taken place. She gave a little bit of a laugh and said that she thought someone must have been bored.
This was one of the times I particularly miss Patty or having "She-who-declines-to-be-named" with me in that they are (were) both much faster thinkers in these situations than I am and would have "slapped back" immediately, while all I can do is wish I had thought of grabbing one of my breasts and jiggling it back at the twitiot in the other car, or perhaps giggling ecstatically and nodding "Yes" too enthusiastically in response to the tongue-play so disgustingly aimed in my direction. Another acquaintance felt that such a response would likely have caused an accident and, since I have no wish to send some poor and staid elderly person into cardiac arrest before God and nature have decreed such an event, am rather glad I just took the "What idiotic piffle!" approach instead.
Several weeks ago, before I realized I was progressing to the extent I seem to be, I was driving along the river road and saw three Eastern (?North Eastern) Bluebirds perched in the bracken between the water and the roadside. I get ridiculously excited at the sight of bluebirds because you don't often see them in our area and there is something so cheerful about them, much more so that the robins, who are more dour in their suits, and certainly more business-like in their demeanor than the bluebirds. The sky was a crisp, clear blue; the air clean and cold; the sun bright and high, high, high up in the sky. It was a day to take your breath away, to close your eyes against the sun and feel the full beauty of nature against the skin of your face, so when I started to feel anxious, worried and depressed shortly thereafter I wasn't sure why.
September 11, 2001 we received several emails from friends that seemed rather strange. They were telling us to turn on the TV, asking if we were stupid or dead (my significant other was between contracts and sleeping in and I had been doing other things before I checked our email that day - I had not turned the TV on at all) and generally trying to get our attention through a medium that, in retrospect, screamed in its silence that day. I did not know what was going on so I turned on the television just in time to see the live broadcast of the first of the Twin Towers collapsing. I think it was Tom Brokaw who was saying, "What can you say?" The beautiful crisp, blue sky glowing with the light of a clear Autumn sun framed the picture of dust, panic and destruction that, eight years later helped cause what I described to one of my therapists as an "anxiety incursion."
Thankfully, all of our loved ones were safe and well, or as well as possible, that day but even the memory of the bluebirds did not seem able to bridge the void in my heart created by the events of 9/11/2001. We lost my boyfriend's mom two years, or so prior to that, my own mom just that February. We had yet to learn that my dad was to undergo three bouts with cancer, that my one of my sisters was going to die of leukemia, that my boyfriend's family was to lose his brother-in-law very shortly after Patty died, that several of our VIPs (Very Important Pussycats) would also be lost to us, that there was to be more pain than we could possibly have imagined ourselves surviving in our futures. We are still here.
The memory of bluebirds seems particularly fitting at the moment. I just finished RSVPing to a wedding invitation for two of our friends who will be married in May up in Maine. We both hope to be there to wish them well and celebrate with them, sharing in their joy in one another and in life. They deserve such happiness, as do most of us. It is anticipated that blue skies and sunshine will be on the schedule but prudent plans have been made for the occurrance of storms as well, so there will be no hinderance to ceremony or celebration. I must , rather selfishly, admit I am sort of hoping to be indoors as Maine is cold in May, but if there are bluebirds I can forgive a lingering chill to the air.
This is not what I initially set out to record today. It occurred to me as I signed in to my blog to write "the other" something, but it is a more cheerful and less naughty something than what I will be mentioning shortly and I think it sets a more cheerful tone for the entire entry than otherwise would have proven to be the case.
The reason this topic springs so readily to mind is because over the past several days, despite some health issues that I have had to deal with (sigh, sigh, sigh!), my thoughts have been turning more toward the writing of poetry and this blog. I have also been drawn more and more to certain books that I thought looked interesting but have not had the mental energy to cope with until now. It seems I am waking up with the approach of Spring, and it does not feel as if it will be a rude awakening in any sense, but a release of old shackles; bonds of a lifetime held hostage by grief, sorrow, bitterness, anger, self-pity, fear,...thank God for the love and strength that grew despite all of that adversty of spirit!
Now, on to the fun stuff. I wanted to let all of you know that I got "tongued" the other day as I drove over to our veterinarians. Now you have to realize that I am fat and fifty and have been around the block (so to speak) a few times, so I was not so much shocked as just, "Oh, puh-lease!" The young woman who did the tonguing was not the driver of the car (which was sort of a scrunched looking SUV type of vehicle) and looked like she lived to have sex with anything as long as it was on a ski slope somewhere. When I got to our vets (to pick up IV fluids for our kidney failure kitties) I asked the receptionist (who has been there longer than we have been taking our cats there) if there was some sort of colony of wild and rabid lesbians living in the area and told her what had taken place. She gave a little bit of a laugh and said that she thought someone must have been bored.
This was one of the times I particularly miss Patty or having "She-who-declines-to-be-named" with me in that they are (were) both much faster thinkers in these situations than I am and would have "slapped back" immediately, while all I can do is wish I had thought of grabbing one of my breasts and jiggling it back at the twitiot in the other car, or perhaps giggling ecstatically and nodding "Yes" too enthusiastically in response to the tongue-play so disgustingly aimed in my direction. Another acquaintance felt that such a response would likely have caused an accident and, since I have no wish to send some poor and staid elderly person into cardiac arrest before God and nature have decreed such an event, am rather glad I just took the "What idiotic piffle!" approach instead.
Several weeks ago, before I realized I was progressing to the extent I seem to be, I was driving along the river road and saw three Eastern (?North Eastern) Bluebirds perched in the bracken between the water and the roadside. I get ridiculously excited at the sight of bluebirds because you don't often see them in our area and there is something so cheerful about them, much more so that the robins, who are more dour in their suits, and certainly more business-like in their demeanor than the bluebirds. The sky was a crisp, clear blue; the air clean and cold; the sun bright and high, high, high up in the sky. It was a day to take your breath away, to close your eyes against the sun and feel the full beauty of nature against the skin of your face, so when I started to feel anxious, worried and depressed shortly thereafter I wasn't sure why.
September 11, 2001 we received several emails from friends that seemed rather strange. They were telling us to turn on the TV, asking if we were stupid or dead (my significant other was between contracts and sleeping in and I had been doing other things before I checked our email that day - I had not turned the TV on at all) and generally trying to get our attention through a medium that, in retrospect, screamed in its silence that day. I did not know what was going on so I turned on the television just in time to see the live broadcast of the first of the Twin Towers collapsing. I think it was Tom Brokaw who was saying, "What can you say?" The beautiful crisp, blue sky glowing with the light of a clear Autumn sun framed the picture of dust, panic and destruction that, eight years later helped cause what I described to one of my therapists as an "anxiety incursion."
Thankfully, all of our loved ones were safe and well, or as well as possible, that day but even the memory of the bluebirds did not seem able to bridge the void in my heart created by the events of 9/11/2001. We lost my boyfriend's mom two years, or so prior to that, my own mom just that February. We had yet to learn that my dad was to undergo three bouts with cancer, that my one of my sisters was going to die of leukemia, that my boyfriend's family was to lose his brother-in-law very shortly after Patty died, that several of our VIPs (Very Important Pussycats) would also be lost to us, that there was to be more pain than we could possibly have imagined ourselves surviving in our futures. We are still here.
The memory of bluebirds seems particularly fitting at the moment. I just finished RSVPing to a wedding invitation for two of our friends who will be married in May up in Maine. We both hope to be there to wish them well and celebrate with them, sharing in their joy in one another and in life. They deserve such happiness, as do most of us. It is anticipated that blue skies and sunshine will be on the schedule but prudent plans have been made for the occurrance of storms as well, so there will be no hinderance to ceremony or celebration. I must , rather selfishly, admit I am sort of hoping to be indoors as Maine is cold in May, but if there are bluebirds I can forgive a lingering chill to the air.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Memories Are Not Always Pleasant or Welcome
What is now yesterday morning (although possibly not quite yet in this blog's time zone) I was at the monthly meeting of our grief group. After the initial eight weeks, those of us in the group elected to continue meeting once a month and it has been good so far, although this has only been our second monthly meeting. What has called me to my keyboard at what is 12:30 am, or so, in my time zone, were some things that were mentioned that took their time percolating in my mind until a few minutes ago and the slight fear that they may have indicated even the remotest of possibilities has caused me to remain awake when I usually have little trouble falling asleep.
It's strange how the slightest of suggestions can bring back some of the most vivd and unwelcome of memories, especially when those memories end up coupled with concerns for potential harm to other people; people who do not merit or in any way deserve to be harmed.
A name, a brief description, and memories of a very self-involved young woman came flooding back to me. She is not someone I have thought about much at all for several years. She is not someone I have wanted to think about for several years, as she is not someone I thought very much of when I met her and even less of when our blessedly brief acquaintance came to an end. To put it very bluntly, she had her head so far up her own backside she was unable to see anything except whatever was up her own....
Unfortunately, this particularly narcissistic young person was going into a field of work where it is likely she would end up victimizing those who could not afford to be further victimized. Dealing with her was like dealing with a very determined locomotive that was laying its own tracks according to its own rules while self-diagnosing for its own benefit and satisfaction with absolutely no regard for anyone or anything else. She was doing the work but for all of the wrong reasons and I pity any of the people who have likely been exposed to her self-satisfied "expertise" during these early years of whatever travesty is passing for her career at the moment. I can only hope that 1. she is still in school, and 2. she has matured tremendously and snapped out of her egoistic little bubble, or is at least in the process of doing so. She was certainly not without intelligence, although she seemed to feel that genius was formulaic rather than creative, and that she was the be all and end all of perfection in the student department despite her determined belief she suffered too greatly to remain unsainted very long following her graduation.
I realize all of this is truly harsh of me, but I know the effect this person had on me, the fear the mere thought of the influence she, or someone very much like her, could have upon a vulnerable human being that I feel when I recall her behaviors, and all that I was trying so hard to deal with at the time that was made even more difficult by this individual. I sincerely hope she has truly grown up and outgrown herself. I also hope I never have to see her or deal with her again on any level and that she never has the opportunity to victimize anyone else again, although I doubt she will ever be able to see herself in that light no matter what damage she may inflict.
Hopefully she will prove to ultimately not be so disturbing and selfish as my contact with her led me to believe, but the fear exists and lingers and I do not want this person near anyone I care about for any reason whatsoever. Maybe she is out in California in some New Age commune with her yogi boyfriend bilking rich people out of money they have never had to earn themselves. Somehow that thought comforts me as she could do very little damage in such a superficial atmosphere should she have managed to not mature or change in these interim years.
Would that all memories could be the pleasant kind.
Izzlebug
It's strange how the slightest of suggestions can bring back some of the most vivd and unwelcome of memories, especially when those memories end up coupled with concerns for potential harm to other people; people who do not merit or in any way deserve to be harmed.
A name, a brief description, and memories of a very self-involved young woman came flooding back to me. She is not someone I have thought about much at all for several years. She is not someone I have wanted to think about for several years, as she is not someone I thought very much of when I met her and even less of when our blessedly brief acquaintance came to an end. To put it very bluntly, she had her head so far up her own backside she was unable to see anything except whatever was up her own....
Unfortunately, this particularly narcissistic young person was going into a field of work where it is likely she would end up victimizing those who could not afford to be further victimized. Dealing with her was like dealing with a very determined locomotive that was laying its own tracks according to its own rules while self-diagnosing for its own benefit and satisfaction with absolutely no regard for anyone or anything else. She was doing the work but for all of the wrong reasons and I pity any of the people who have likely been exposed to her self-satisfied "expertise" during these early years of whatever travesty is passing for her career at the moment. I can only hope that 1. she is still in school, and 2. she has matured tremendously and snapped out of her egoistic little bubble, or is at least in the process of doing so. She was certainly not without intelligence, although she seemed to feel that genius was formulaic rather than creative, and that she was the be all and end all of perfection in the student department despite her determined belief she suffered too greatly to remain unsainted very long following her graduation.
I realize all of this is truly harsh of me, but I know the effect this person had on me, the fear the mere thought of the influence she, or someone very much like her, could have upon a vulnerable human being that I feel when I recall her behaviors, and all that I was trying so hard to deal with at the time that was made even more difficult by this individual. I sincerely hope she has truly grown up and outgrown herself. I also hope I never have to see her or deal with her again on any level and that she never has the opportunity to victimize anyone else again, although I doubt she will ever be able to see herself in that light no matter what damage she may inflict.
Hopefully she will prove to ultimately not be so disturbing and selfish as my contact with her led me to believe, but the fear exists and lingers and I do not want this person near anyone I care about for any reason whatsoever. Maybe she is out in California in some New Age commune with her yogi boyfriend bilking rich people out of money they have never had to earn themselves. Somehow that thought comforts me as she could do very little damage in such a superficial atmosphere should she have managed to not mature or change in these interim years.
Would that all memories could be the pleasant kind.
Izzlebug
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