What a stinking lie. That has to be in the Guinness Book of world Records for the Dumbest Thing to come out of anyone's mouth. Ever.
I went to my friend and Mentor's funeral viewing today. I could not stay for the actual services, because from the time I caught glimpse of Suzanne, I lost it. I went up and knelt next to her, trying to remember a prayer, like a good Catholic School Survivor should be able to do. But all I did was began weeping, openly. And did not stop, for the 80-odd minutes I managed to stay secluded in the back row. The Funeral Home where the wake was held has an excellent reputation, but quite frankly, if Suzanne was hovering about, she'd have been appalled. Yes, she died of Cancer, and it is a brutal, emaciating disease. But all I could see of Suzanne was the Mortician's wax, seemingly applied with a putty knife. They left her eyes sunken in, and really, quite frankly, she looked like what she was - a corpse. A ghastly, white, dead body. Not the woman I remember going to tea shops with on a Saturday afternoon, and spending Thanksgiving Day with, just the two of us.
I noted, before I left that I was the only one crying. Maybe once the Priest arrived and the actual service started it was different, but I couldn't chance staying that long.
A lot of very bad feelings are surfacing for me, and I'm frightened of them. I'm lucky, no, Blessed to have my FuzzBabies.
I felt I could somehow keep myself relatively safe. I thought back in January I would get a low-paying job in no time. Two weeks ago I signed up for my 8th agency, and the young woman was compassionate. I nearly begged her for anything. She made a comment that in her nearly 7 years of working as a Staffing agent, she'd never seen it this slow. She said that in the previous 2 weeks, the agency had only 3 orders. Now my car is broke, I'm snowed under and I see no way out.
Except for the Kittehs, I'd be where I was in October, 2002.
Excuse me while I go wake one up for some kitty therapy.
I went to my friend and Mentor's funeral viewing today. I could not stay for the actual services, because from the time I caught glimpse of Suzanne, I lost it. I went up and knelt next to her, trying to remember a prayer, like a good Catholic School Survivor should be able to do. But all I did was began weeping, openly. And did not stop, for the 80-odd minutes I managed to stay secluded in the back row. The Funeral Home where the wake was held has an excellent reputation, but quite frankly, if Suzanne was hovering about, she'd have been appalled. Yes, she died of Cancer, and it is a brutal, emaciating disease. But all I could see of Suzanne was the Mortician's wax, seemingly applied with a putty knife. They left her eyes sunken in, and really, quite frankly, she looked like what she was - a corpse. A ghastly, white, dead body. Not the woman I remember going to tea shops with on a Saturday afternoon, and spending Thanksgiving Day with, just the two of us.
I noted, before I left that I was the only one crying. Maybe once the Priest arrived and the actual service started it was different, but I couldn't chance staying that long.
A lot of very bad feelings are surfacing for me, and I'm frightened of them. I'm lucky, no, Blessed to have my FuzzBabies.
I felt I could somehow keep myself relatively safe. I thought back in January I would get a low-paying job in no time. Two weeks ago I signed up for my 8th agency, and the young woman was compassionate. I nearly begged her for anything. She made a comment that in her nearly 7 years of working as a Staffing agent, she'd never seen it this slow. She said that in the previous 2 weeks, the agency had only 3 orders. Now my car is broke, I'm snowed under and I see no way out.
Except for the Kittehs, I'd be where I was in October, 2002.
Excuse me while I go wake one up for some kitty therapy.
