wisconsinwriter: Realistic. (attitude)
I think I need a support group for parents who have kids with besties who fled the school district once Catholic school was done. We are the only family with a girl who hasn't left our urban district for the tony one next door like all of her girl friends did. It's hard because all of her besties are a few miles away, but she's in the poorest performing school in the entire Madison district. Does this make us bad parents?
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Apparently my sister gave him my cell number, which is something I keep very secret for the most part. He wants my dad's death certificate so he can apply for the mortgage refund that he doesn't deserve. I think he plans on sharing with my sister, thus the breech. That and she isn't talking to me anyway.

I am sending him a note in the mail telling him it costs $20 from the register of deeds. If he doesn't like that (and he won't, he'll start screaming he doesn't have the money) he can kiss my ass.
wisconsinwriter: Book chapter marker (Default)
Cuz LJ is not working tonight.

Happy New Year. I am ambivalent about the last year, and mediocre about the future. This is my problem of course, not yours.
wisconsinwriter: Book chapter marker (Default)
Is there some weird stuff going on with LJ? I wanted to log in and it didn't seem to be an option. I am using dreamwidth to post, bloody buggers.
wisconsinwriter: Book chapter marker (Default)
Thanks to a good friend who needs lots of great vibes, I am posting from a place other than LJ.

Ok...dream time.

I dreamt about two weeks ago that I was walking through this very large, very diverse, very complicated building with efficiency units. Some where NYC railroad style, some were cut up mansion now populated with white trash style, and some were in-between.

After fighting my way through all of it, I emerged upon a lovely green yard. Dad was there, surrounded by passed friends and family. He was in one of those wheelchairs from the 1920's, and it was clear it was just for show.

After making my way through a variety of edifices, I emerged and found my Dad in the wheelchair. He once again had chestnut hair and florid features. With a great effort, he looked over his shoulder and said (for some reason he wasn't able to rise and greet me):

"I'm sorry, dear, that the onus was always on you."

Strange and comforting. I suspect he still has a a few chakras or whatever your religion might call them, to work though.

Thanks for listening... :)

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wisconsinwriter

January 2019

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