apologize

Mike (living in Daytona, FL-- just back from the desert) and I were talking earlier and somehow we got on the topic of the worst either one of us has done. Stupidly, I asked him what's the worst he's done. Mike's answer-

Baby I've been to war. Don't ask me to list my sins.

And I instantly realized that it's going to be really hard for us. Us not only meaning me and him but also every single Military girlfriend, spouse, child. As much as we try to understand, fact of the matter is that we don't. Nor will we. There's this old saying that the real soldiers are the ones who don't talk about what they've seen.

I know Mike's seen the worst of it, but he's the guy I am going to marry.

And I'm not shallow enough to not want to be with him because he needs to, for one reason or another, keep things about what went down in the desert from me.

The way I see it, none of us have a clean slate. We've all done some pretty fucked up things. Me. I was never the good one. But you do what you gotta do to survive. If that means that sometimes I have to take way too many painmeds and put on some chill, acoustic stuff to get me away from this Hell, then so be it. Or that I needed to tell my father that most of my problems can be traced back to him, just to get him off my back. Or my working at Coyote while promoting feminism. Or the time I told my suicidal friend that after two failed tries she needed to either get it over with already or stop trying. Yeah. I'm a really bad person.

Completly shifting gears, I'm absolutly astonished over how many people are on academic warning or were asked to leave becase of grades after last semester. Thankfully I wasn't, but I came disgustingly close. Nina is gone, Jess is gone, Becca is on AcPro, Brian is gone...the list goes on. What I don't understand is, if you're paying over $28,000 in tuition alone, how you get kicked out for not going to class. No...I get it. But still. I guess this semester was just a really big wakeup call for me. I really need to get my act together. Noone tolerates a failure. There's a reason failure and F start with the same letter. B...you can always do better. C, get your crap together. D, do somthing immediatly to amend the situation. And F...fuckup, failure, forgot that nothing below an A is acceptable.

Next weekend my stepcousin, Chella, is turning six and I have no idea what to get her. I'm thinking I might get her a really cute giant hobo bag that I found at Nordstroms and buy Barbies and other girly toys to stuff it with. She diserves it. She's a fantastic six year old.

But even she doesn't have any baggage.