friskin

Ugh, I just had a nice little entry going and then the internet reminded me that it hates my guts.

Any how..

I imagined starting a badminton team. I imagined my children playing badminton in the backyard someday. It occurred to me that that is what I used to do. I always played in the backyard. We had a badminton set (at least the rackets and birdies) and croquet and swings. Now the whole thing is taken over by my motherís prized pool. I havenít swum since that fateful day last JuneÖ

I just learned that the game is called ìbadmintonî and not ìbadmitton.î That shows how much I know..

I drew a picture of the boy on the bus and titled it ìEverything I Donít Want To Be.î

People in my family are amazingly good at slamming doors. My parents do it all the time when they fight. They used to take Rachaelís door off its hinges when she slammed it. It seems I have also inherited the skill. There is something so satisfying about cutting someone off so abruptly with a bang. Sometimes for emphasis we open it back up and slam it shut again. Bang, right in your face. Of course Iíd almost always end up in my room, alone, crying.

Bang, get out of my life.
Bang, I wonít let you hurt me.
Bang.