I can’t get my thoughts in any kind of order except when I write things down. And I don’t keep a journal, I keep a blog. So it has to go here.
In no particular order:
- I’m glad that my commute was 20 minutes each way and that I called you nearly every day to and from work to talk about absolutely nothing in particular.
- I’m mad that you didn’t live long enough to be a burden. You know Jeff and I were fighting over who you and dad were going to go live with when you got elderly and senile. I’m mad that you didn’t live long enough to become elderly and senile.
- I’m glad that you randomly called me Sunday morning and asked me to meet you at that store because you were having trouble choosing a Christmas gift. I’m so glad I rolled my eyes, threw on some jeans and met you down there.
- I’m glad that my house got shown by a realtor on Sunday afternoon even though I wasn’t feeling good because I had to vacate my house so I went to your house and even though the realtor was in and out in 15 minutes, I hung out at your house for 3 hours.
- I’m glad that I’m a 42-year old woman who’s never picked out a single house paint color without your input.
- I’m so pissed that you won’t be here when I finally get published. You were my biggest cheerleader.
- I’m so sick of saying “I just don’t understand.” It’s true, but every time it comes out of my mouth, it sounds repetitive and useless.
- I’m so glad you didn’t suffer.
- I’m so mad you didn’t say goodbye.
- I’m so glad you and dad celebrated your 50-year anniversary this year. I’m so mad it was the last one.
- I’m pissed that I’m writing this to a healthy 67-year old.
- I’m so mad that now I’m a 3-legged dog. Sure, I’ll learn to run again, but my balance will never be as good and I’ll never be able to overlook what’s missing.
- I’m glad you were my best friend.
- Still pissed about the 3-legged dog thing.