I'm so sorry, Suzi.
I'm a 43 year old woman who wants her mommy.
There is NOTHING wrong with that.
Saffron ,'Our Mrs. Reynolds'
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
I'm so sorry, Suzi.
I'm a 43 year old woman who wants her mommy.
There is NOTHING wrong with that.
Oh Suzi. I'm so sorry. My mom's 70th was recently and it hit me hard.
It's a peculiar and unpredictable aspect of grief that a kind word can tear the foundations out from under you.
She died 2 years ago, last June. I still have incredibly vivid dream about her and when I wake up I have to remind myself that she is gone. Most days are the good misty remembrances.
Brenda, you hit it on the nose. When it was just the three of us remembering, it was ok. Having my cousin, who I adore, reach out just hit me in the gut.
On the other hand, today is NOT my 24th wedding anniversary. WOOOT!
Suzi, I'm sorry that you are feeling sad about your mom...but it's wonderful that you loved her so much you still feel her loss, you know? But, even though I didn't know her, I think she would be proud of you as a person, a woman and a mother.
I think I phrased that badly. a
Connie, that's ridiculous. Thanksgiving is a huge family holiday for most, and it's in almost 2 weeks. To not let people know WAY ahead of time if they will have it off is..cruel and inefficient.
{{{Suzi}}}
It's a peculiar and unpredictable aspect of grief that a kind word can tear the foundations out from under you.
Wow, that is incredibly well put.
It can be hard, Suzi. Be gentle with yourself.
Does Truth Or Dare ever go well?
And does anyone IRL play it after high school?
Our go-to take-out restaurant is closed for health violations. Sadness. More than one form of sadness, too. Plus I'm hungry.
So when I got home tonight, I got a good three or four minutes of admiring what a good job the house keeper did with the apartment, before I realized I didn't see Dita, who normally greets me at the door, but didn't, and who was also not under the sofa or the bed or shut in any of the closets and didn't come out when I shook her favorite treat bag.
After a break to FREAK THE FUCK OUT and walk around outside calling her etc, I went back into the bedroom, where luckily I heard a chirp.
Dita had managed to slip into the duvet cover while the house keeper was putting it on, and gotten zipped into it.
Dita had managed to slip into the duvet cover while the house keeper was putting it on, and gotten zipped into it.
At least she didn't shred her way out?
Poor walnut-brain Dita.
Poor Dita!