Yesterday after work I started getting some of my care package things together... The chic at the store asked what I was doing with all those loofah sponges... so I told her. I don't like all the attention... for example... "oh that's so nice," or whatever. And I'm sewing small travel pillows that the soldiers can take with them in their packs, so I was using my mom's sewing machine (I need to buy one), and all my brothers (I have 4 but only 3 were there) came up and asked what I was doing and my dad did too. Anyway, I just don't want the attention. AND I'm not writing this for you to say, "aww... isn't she sweet!"
I'm not sweet.
I hate that. I just like writing what's going on in my head. And I need to feel useful in my life as it seems lately I've devoted myself to the occupation of drinking, or, as my mother says, "pursuing sins of the flesh."
The one pillow that I did make turned out well. More to come. It's pretty simple, but I want to embroider some of them. I don't want them to be too frou-frou though, so we'll see.
I then went to one of my best friend's house to hang out with her fam and her new boy. We were all standing around the kitchen and then she brings up how very wasted I was on Wednesday night in front of her mother and 14 year old brother. I don't usually get so drunk that I can't remember things that happened, this was the second time in my life, and apparently some of the things done that evening were about the least classy of my lifetime. I was so embarrassed and then on attention overload, so I started crying. I mean, I walked away, and it was only a few tears, which is much better than I did when I was 3 and had too much attention and hid behind my mother and bawled my eyes out.
I've improved in the last 21 years.
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