Beam Me Up

Ah, I promised to write about truth in writing today.

I had to go Christmas shopping instead. Walter and I went out on a trip to “pick up books.” Wink wink.

The four of us have been having hushed conversations, silent nods and hand signals. The Christmas gifts are almost all purchased. Walter and I stood in the parking lot of Toys R Us today on our cell phones, checking in with different resources, so we were sure of our mission.

Don’t ever walk in Toys R Us this time of year without being sure of your mission.

I’ve been accused of being mad with the world. (See comments to “Stunted Package Wrapping Skills,” Dec. 12th.)

No, I am not mad with the world. Nor am I “going through the drama of finding myself.”

I believe I found myself in the Playstation Two games aisle.

It’s as if I’m on some aromatherapy induced hallucination. I'm not sitting on kiln rugs discussing the depth of my karma. I'm not tucking crystals under my bed to align my chakras. I was sexually abused as a child. Small child. Anyone have a five-year-old girl? Look in her eyes. Imagine what it would be like to have her father take advantage of that trust.

You’d think I was looking for welfare payments.

No. Not even compassion.

It was what it was. Mad at the world?

Nope.

Almost finished Christmas shopping today. Life is pretty good.

At least the way I see it.

Anyone else is welcome to see it any way they want.

Signal to the mothership… whatever.