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Category Quick Jump

Note that we've played, um, loose with the categories so the first 3 especially, are practically meaningless.

Fun
Fashion
Happiness

Efficiency
News 4 A 1
Reich 4.0

god

A Robot of God

Writin. Can a lady write when she’s not unhappy? Scratch that.

Can a lady write when she’s not driven? Can a lady write when she’s just looking for meaning? Do you want to read the words of a lady just looking for meaning?

Why does writing make me happy? (And why is that such a hard statement to type?)

Happiness, happiness, happiness. Happiness. This is me daring the gods to strike me down with depression.

Damn – interruption by the bf. Lost my flow.

This is me blocking out all the emotional, mental, spiritual debris of a day, a week, a life. This is me just joining the flow of life. I think.

The Pain Will Soon Pass

The pain will soon pass because I will it to pass. That is, I recognize that a life without pain is more valuable than a livelihood that it hurts to pursue; therefore, I will pursue a livelihood that doesn’t hurt – a livelihood that increases my health, even. It’s one thing to have financially rewarding, somewhat socially and spiritually rewarding work, but another entirely to have financially, socially and spiritually rewarding work.

In the past, I’ve pursued spiritually and socially rewarding work - together and apart; however, it’s always been at the expense of Demon Money. It’s time to bring them all together. Demon, meet Saint; Saint, meet Demon.

Image from: forum.mmosite.com

Where is My Mother?

Sadness. The only constant. The only thing I can count on. Where does it come from? Why can’t I kill it?

I have incredible friends, an incredible partner and rewarding work. Is it hereditary?

My mom was the same, and probably my dad. My sister? Yep. My brothers? Probably my two oldest ones. I don’t know the two youngest ones well enough to say positively; however, they seem happier than the rest of us. They had the benefit of being born 5 and 10 years, respectively, after the cluster of the four oldest. My mom was a bit happier by then. Perhaps the end was in site. She could see that she was finally going to leave the farm.

The miserable, lonely, pristine and haunted homestead. My father’s life's work built on my mother’s strength and connections. The screaming success my mother would have no part of because women are the servants of men. Or so she believed. Or so she tried to believe.