I'm Bred For Farm Work, And For

I Believe In God, But Even If You Don't, You Can Believe In A Self, The Person Who Is Innately Who You Are. Once You Fully Become That Person, Then Everything You Do Will Be Blessed.

Mother’s Particular Devils Had Remained Mysterious To Me For Decades. So Had Her Past. Few Born Liars Ever Intentionally Embark In Truth’s Direction, Even Those Who Believe That Such A Journey Might Axiomatically Set Them Free.

If Dysfunction Means That A Family Doesn't Work, Then Every Family Ambles Into Some Arena In Which That Happens, Where Relationships Get Strained Or Even Break Down Entirely. We Fail Each Other Or Disappoint Each Other. That Goes For Parents, Siblings, Kids, Marriage Partners - The Whole Enchilada.

I Kept The Fingers Of My Left Hand Crossed All The Time, While On My Right-hand Fingers I Counted Anything At All—steps To The Refrigerator, Seconds On The Clock, Words In A Sentence—to Keep My Head Occupied. The Counting Felt Like Something To Hang On To, As If Finding The Right Numbers Might Somehow Crack The Code On Whatever System Ran The Slippery Universe We Were Moving Through.

I'm Bred For Farm Work, And For Such Folk, The Only A's You Get Come From Effort. Strife And Strain Are All The World Can Offer, And They Temper You Into Something Unbreakable Because Lord Knows They'll Try -- Without Let Up -- To Break You.