Ah, so you've taken to searching me out all over social media. And following other people in cars. How... rude. Ah, but when it comes to rudeness, I have no room to talk. But then, this is my blog, a place protected by various things, including copyright law. Reproductions are frowned upon. Big old freaking frowns, too.
But then, I do have manners.
I wasn't raised in no dang barn.
Enjoy yourselves, make yourselves at home. We've a whole empty outbuilding that can be fixed up for you, your children, your pets, lovers, friends, fiancés, and any stray relatives who'd love to tag along. It is just beyond the Animal Husbandry Barn Yard, at a suitable distance from the Insemination Gazebo, and far enough from our wing of Marlinspike Hall that you shall not feel spied upon.
One thing you should remember about this blog: it's my place to vent, say what I please (but not necessarily what I believe), and to people who are my friends, be they of the Hergé sort or just soft-spoken Buddhist anarchists who have decided to live in a haus-boat that continually circles the moat. It's also a place for people with CRPS to share research and clinical trial news, and a place for them to relax, to go aside and rest awhile.
I say some mean things here about you, about Mom. I say a lot of nice things about you here, too, and about Mom. I say them as I say them. I say them as I feel them. I say them based on things I know and you don't. Sometimes I base them on misinformation that is fed to me.
I would appreciate being able to telephone the Mother-Unit without interference or the necessity of aid from sweet third parties. But it's no big deal. I truly hate the telephone. There's not much to say on my end. One day is remarkably like the other. There's no point to your interference. Who and what you are is known. Most of what you've done is known, or guessed at. And no one much cares.
In a random poll taken in the neighborhood, a hefty 99% of the polled say it's time for you to grow up. So you go do that.
I'll stay here and make sure the ticking in your mattresses is the absolute freshest, that there are daisies, lilies, and tulips (for Lale) in cut-glass vases throughout the charmingly converted building come to be known simply as "The Turkey Baster." We need to rename it but that kind of thing just is not a priority. If I have time to do some growing up, it will have to be between re-sodding our Wimbledon Replica Courts and baking a thousand caramelized onion with tomato jam tarts for the local Woe-Is-Me Chapter Fundraiser.
Be careful as you stroll about elle est belle la seine la seine elle est belle. Tante Louise, the local constabulary and gossip comptroller, patrols various posts and hallways. She doesn't take kindly to litter, prevarication, violence, manipulation, or vandalism (which she defines in a most... original way).
Also take care that you do not in any way meander off the beaten path into the domains of my Brother-Units. I consider myself their Gate Keeper, and you know what that means. Anything goes and no one crosses that line.
There's no reason on God's formerly green Earth that relationships cannot be mended. There is one criterion that can't be avoided, however, and, well, I would hope that is obvious by now.
You are worthy people, children of the aforementioned God, guests on His formerly green Earth. Be generous. Be real. Be compassionate.
I will try to learn to do the same. My learning curve is not the greatest. But I won't give up trying. I promise. So let's not give up on one another, no matter how angry we feel.
You're surrounded by some good people -- Betty, Mac, Benita -- and you've access to many more. Listen to older, wiser voices. There is nothing new under the sun. This drama? It's happening all over God's formerly green Earth, and began with the First Family -- by which I do not mean President Obama and his good kin.
This above all else, my half-siblings: the next generation, those kids you are rasining? Spare them the mistakes that we have made. Expose them to new things, allow them to explore, allow them to disagree, give them some space. Get them help if they need it. Love them in such a way that they don't grow up confused about love or where to find it. Let them know that their hearts are safe in your homes, and that's where their hearts will be. You've got real treasures in your care -- they are wonderful children!