George

Mildred, the church gossip, and self-appointed monitor of the church’s morals, kept sticking her nose in to other people’s business. Several members did not approve of her extra-curricular activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.

She made a mistake, however, when she accused George, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the towns only bar one afternoon. She emphatically told George (and several others) that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.

George, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He didn’t explain, defend, or deny … He said nothing.

That evening, George quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred’s house, walked home. and left it there all night.

 

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

You know your birthday is for crap when you get a call at 4:30am and it was because your ex-husband’s telephone accidentally redialed …. twice.

That was the highlight of my day.

I go to MD Anderson (that call clocked in at 6:30am yesterday) on July 30th. I’m broken. I need a’fixin. And a brain transplant. I hope I don’t get admitted because I am too exhausted to go inpatient in the Big House.

Tim and I broke up. My fault. I’m so not surprised.

I need Zoe. And someone to come help me pack. I can barely move.

I can do this. Regardless.

(comments are shut off on this one, btw. They are jacked up and have been needing moderation.)

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