CANCER (June 21-July 22): In the 1925 silent film The Gold Rush,Charlie Chaplin plays a prospector during the Alaska Gold Rush. After a series of adventures, he finds himself stuck in a remote cabin on Thanksgiving Day with a ruffian named Big Jim. They're out of food, so Charlie gets resourceful, boiling his right shoe in a big pot and serving it up steaming hot. What the audience doesn't know is that the movie prop is made of sweet licorice, not leather. So while it may seem that dinner is a hardship, the actors actually had no trouble polishing off their meal. I see a similar scenario in your near future, Cancerian: something like eating a "shoe" that's made of candy.
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Well, maybe that will make it tastier when I put my foot in my mouth. (I have had shoes that were brand-named Candies, but that's beside the point). I have been awfully distracted lately and curt and abrupt. I know that my children and I have lost the most precious person in the world to us, that I have had shingles and lupus and insomnia and kidney infections, but that's no excuse for being rude. And I've been ruddy rude. I hope the universe will accept my apologies. I swear I will be a better daughter, mother, teacher, in-law, outlaw, and friend as soon as these steroids wear off.
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3 comments:
ALL of these things are excuses for being rude. Death of a loved one then shingles is just plain mean and would make me mean as a snake but I'd run with it for a while. I'm not that righteous.
love,
Rebecca
Dear Rebecca,
I'm very mean lately, and, well, it's more like the pre-Harvey Pamela than the post-Harvey Pamela.
(Sometimes I miss that unfeeling, uncaring, 20-something girl. She got a lot more done than I do. It's a lot easier to get through life as a robot, to forget that you have feelings. And she spoke up for herself more than I do now. I might have been snubbed before, but now I am invisible. That's a "nother-other" issue, as my sister used to put it, and it's likely related to aging as much as it is to the squeaking wheel getting the promotion).
You couldn't possibly be invisible to anyone whose eyes weren't resolutely closed--and (the pictures on the backs of their lids notwithstanding) they don't really see anyone.
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