This is Not My Beautiful House; This is Not My Beautiful Wife

I wish I was really clever. I wish I was really smart. I wish I was really something in some way--better than everyone else. But I've learned that I'm not. I'm really special to Tresa and Jim because I'm their daughter, but when they die, I'll be a nobody. And I don't know how I feel about that. I guess, as a Christian, I'm a somebody in the eyes of the Lord. Jesus loves me. And I kind of believe that. Like, if I were to stand on a bridge, threatening to jump, there would be some people who honestly didn't want me to do it. Morbid I should go there.

Oh well, people have different families. Mine was WASP WASP WASP although you wouldn't know it. Neither family were anything other than farm folk and/or blue collar. Well, Jim went to an Ivy-League school for his MBA. He must have found some class there. Tresa was a good girl from Kaiser Oregon. She went to University. They both did. They were classy people. And then they went to Kenilworth: forgetaboutit! WASP central. And they reared two little WASPs. Although Jill and I aren't really WASPy anymore--except for our shells. Or our inner-most parts. I know I'm very WASPy.

I should just come to grips that I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. It would be one thing if I just knew it: like giving up booze or chocolate cake. But not to know on a day-to-day basis. That's the misery of it--to always have hope.

(this is not my beautiful house; this is not my beautiful wife)

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