The Back of My Hand

A normally very well respected family member finally had the balls to share his thoughts on the crime that was committed against me. Not Paige, Kirsten or even Bootsie had too well tried to explain that that caregiver deserved 500 extra bucks from me a month. Mitch did so, well… okay. 900 was heavy and a bit more than I might have imagined in some of my offers, but something more than my agreed to 400 did seem warranted.

I poked a little fun at one of the Stygians who claimed I should have paid for chef and chauffeur service from that house. Bootsie did drive me a good distance to Ffloyd rehab in Cartersville (that actually did some good work with me) and obviously some other car trips that had to be made earlier on in the recovery, but there waa no chef and no chaeffeur and I never once called and asked someone to drive lunch to my house with Marcie, as Paiges stupidity recently suggested.

I'm going to let the money that was stolen from me be someone else's subject in some other conversation they might have in some future. Things were done for me formed habits, good and bad, on both sides. The good habits don't get talked about as much as the bad habits. The bad habits might be born from necessities that could arise when doing, well, bad things. Telling someone to lie for fun in posts here or to write about the beauty of Borger, Texas instead of family jump out as good examples of this.

Not writing about Borger could be seen as a desire to be positive, while writing about my family was my directly expressed intention of doing a blog a long time ago that everyone agreed to in hopes that I would stop my horrible email bombing shit. The stories that started the blog were very positive but immediately attacked as being untruthful ot even racist while telling of the conversational perspective of a 7 year old boy walking home through a difficult racial situation in Marietta in 1974. Following posts were also said to be lies, even if the almost completely accurate story came from my memory of it when I was 4 years old. I believe that those 2 lies that I was said to have told may have caused Bootsie to tell me such lies are funny and fun to read. I didn't bite.

The chances for me to bite hooks have been pretty consistent for quite a while now. In efforts to be sincere, I think some older people in the immediate family might could look more closely at truths and falsehoods. They keep trying, but they keep missing it by just that much.