Mommy Nearest and the Blood Tribe

I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to look up my birth mother.

This seems to drive people INSANE.

My mother’s most recent obsession is her ancestry.com membership.  She added me as a ‘leaf’ or whatever bizarre buzzword for ‘human being’ that ancestry uses.  How anyone would ever be connected to me on a website knowing just my name and my adoptive parents is beyond me, it was a closed adoption.  I now fear that my mother will try to collect either blood or saliva from me while I am indisposed to satiate her sudden and intrinsic need to seek out blood tribes.

But I digress.

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Compulsions, Confidence, and Contradictions

I have a very love/hate relationship with writing.  Most writers do, I’d imagine.

Ugh.  Writers.  A word that describes a person who writes, yet somehow it has taken on a persona that has a fetish for tortoise shell frames.  I think we all know that faux half rims are the way to go for this racket.  But I suppose as long as one is bespectacled, they can wax poetic about their process at cocktail parties until the room clears and hors d’oeuvres can be crammed into ziplock baggies on the low.

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