select writing from the publisher in the book Rinse and Repeat Janet Kuypers’ writing in Rinse & Repeat You can also pick up a copy of this book right now for only $12.00 American! Welcome to the 1999 issues (volumes 105 through 116) of Children, Churches and Daddies (the unreligious, non-family-oriented literary and art magazine), which is drinking, i mean, THINKING our way through the Y2K... “Rinse and Repeat” (ISBN 1-891470-13-2, $12.00, First Edition, copyright © 1998, 1999 Scars Publications and Design) is a collection book of poetry, prose, essays, philosophical rants, art and general tirades of all these issues, finishing off the 1900s from Scars Publications. So rep-eee-tay see vous play... note from the publisher Rinse and Repeat is filled with poetry, prose and art. from the 1999 issues of a literay magazine “Children, Churches and Daddies”, contest results and award winners. This book, as a whole, is fiction, and no correlation should be made between events in this book and events in real life. Okay, I got the technical stuff out of the way. Can I go home now? The magazine cc&d has gone through a lot on the past 5 years. Yes, it has been five years... Sometimes we could not afford getting the issues out regularly, and sometimes we had the time and the energy and produced issues at twice every month. cc&d has gone through at least four different people helping on staff, in addition to the insane number of writers and artists who have submitted materials to cc&d to be a part of it... however, through all that time, I have stayed on board with it and kept the literary magazine alive and well. A lot of personal problems have sprung up to the editorial staff in recent years, anything from marriage proposals to travelling around the continent to almost being killed to movingfive or six times to... Oh, I know there is more on this one, but I hope that gives you the idea. A lot of people go through a lot in order to keep going sometimes, and we have gone through a lot to keep cc&d alive. This year it is running a bit differently than in past years, and it is a fitting way to run the last year that starts with a one as the first digit... cc&d has the usual following sections: editorial, poetry, news your can use, humor, prose, and philosophy monthly. In 1998, 1997 and 1996 cc&d has come in standard sizes and not digest sizes. There have been color covers, and there has been continuity in how often the issues appeared. This year it is running a little differently, we are going to take out the stuff that takes up additional space, and combine all the poetry and prose together into one big book. That would be this one. R&R has calendar entries and cc&d entries and book and chapbook contest entries. We cut out from this book the news and the humor; we wanted to be able to fit in all the good poetry and prose that we could... So I have done everything I could to avoid my own writing in this collection. So, if you were looking for writing by Janet Kuypers, you would have to go and buy one of her books from Scars Publications. Hee hee. I did put a few poems in here, ones I wrote in the beginning of 1999, which are a perfect lead-in to my good news. I am engaged. I met a man who put up with all the garbage that I had to go through, and he helped me through a lot of my problems. He had every opportunity to play “ding dong ditch” and leave me, but he didn’t. His name is John. And he will frequent covers of future issues of cc&d (like the image on this page suggests). He has given me so much in my life that I cannot ask for more sometimes. And no, although I like his last name, I did not plan on changing my last name to his. I like my signature with my old last name too much... Janet Kuypers Children, Churches and Daddies this book is dedicated to overcoming struggles, to losing what you care about, to selfishness, to freedom, and most importantly, this book to dedicated to Mr. John Yotko P.S.: I wanted to take what little space I had left to thank everyone for all the time and talent they put into making this magazine - and this book - a reality. And I would like to finish off this letter with a poem that I wrote with john, called stairs. - Janet Kuypers

Stairs (written by j.k. and j.y.) I’m sick of these stairs that I have to take, I keep having to climb up, & I get nowhere twisting around in a spiral I rise like the wrought iron balusters, that need the rust cleaned off & a fresh coat of paint there are so many things I need, & I wonder if scraping the damage is enough or if covering what has been done is enough, if this rising is enough because I’m wondering if anything I do is enough won’t somebody tell mewill anyone tell me the leaden weight keeps dragging me down I’ve been looking for someone nobody has the answers anymore because I know what I’m doing & no one has been able to make it better scraping & painting I’ve got to keep going I’ve found the strength & the beauty that put these stairs in here with each stroke of the brush my load’s getting lighter, the burden easier to bear I see what I’ve fixed it is beginning to become amazing all that I can see below, that I have managed to overcome, that I have gone through I have made it past a lot am I going to be lucky enough to make it to the top of these damn stairs where I will have a great view from the top & no one else will get to see this view with me? with me & my paint scrapers my buckets of paints & brushes I look & I see others below me struggling & I’ve got to tell them it is hell to do it, it’s not fun, I’ll admit it but when you count all the chips at the end of the game of stairs you’ll have the most pieces you’ll be the winner & if you have to stand there alone at least you’ll know that you made it & you know, I know it’s hell but you’ve got to keep telling yourself that each step, each stair, is worth it so I’ll scrape & I’ll climb, I’ll paint, climb more I’ve been told there is happiness happiness somewhere - if I only can make it if only I can take it take the pain of climbing these stairs

“Type A” Person Janet Kuypers I was in my friend’s car once, and she was driving through the streets of Chicago, and she was letting people in who were getting in the right lane at an intersection when that right lane really should only be used for turning right but they go straight and try to cut off the long line of traffic waiting at the light. Well, as I said, she’s letting these people get in front of her, and she’s stopping at four-way stop intersections and waving other cars to go in front of her, and when she is going she’s going under the speed limit, and I’m thinking, my god, she’s under thirty years old and she’s driving like she’s twice her age and I want to tell her to get going because damnit, I don’t want to die in this car, I’ve got a lot of living to do, I’ve never jumped out of an airplane or made a million dollars or been in a lustful affair with a high-ranking political candidate, and if I am going to go out I surely don’t want to die of boredom while someone else is staying in the most congested lane of traffic when they could just as easily get into the next lane and cut everyone off in front of them when they eventually have to merge, like I would most certainly do. And then it occurred to me, and of course it filled me with a complete and utter sense of elation, because I just love being pigeon-holed into stereotypical psychological categories: I really am a Type A person. There’s an intersection near my house where from one direction you can either go straight or turn right, and there are two streets that merge into this one, both turning right, so the middle street has a “no turn on red” sign. And usually when I’m on this road I’m on the street that’s going straight, the left-most street, and these two streets are on my right, merging into my street. And I always catch the red light on this street, it’s like the traffic gods are displeased with my constant efforts to circumvent their wrath, so I’m always catching the red light at this street, so I’ve learned a new trick: I turn right, onto the first street on my right, but instead of doing a U-turn I turn left at the next block so I can get on that second street, all so I can turn right onto the street I was on originally before both of the other streets get to go so I can beat every one of those slow bastards to the next intersection. I mean, yes, I’m the one that’s yelling and banging the stering wheel of my car when people on the road are idiots. Yes, I’m that person who has to race so that I can slam on my brakes at that next intersection, only 100 feet away, and yes, I am only driving a Saturn SL1, a sedan with about as much power as a 1982 Ford Mustang, but damnit, I won’t go down without a fight, I will be out there cutting everyone off, weaving in and out of traffic; I will be the one getting there before you, trust me, I will. And even when I’m tuning the radio while driving, because, you see, I do that and put on my make-up and take notes for work and check over my schedule and if I was the Hindu god BISHNU and had ten arms I’d get a cel phone and send out faxes and eat dinner and write a novel while I was at it, but, as I said, even when I’m tuning the radio while I’m driving I only let the first second-and-a-half of the song play before I’m disgusted and change the dial to the next pre-programmed station, just to instantaneously become disgusted another six times and have to find a tape to play because all those stupid corporate pieces of shit think they should play crap over and over again in order to keep the mindless tuned in. Well, not me, thank you very much, I don’t have the patience for that. So, needless to say, I’ve discovered that this is a problem of mine, I wish there was some sort of therapy group for this so I could go to my weekly “Type A Anonymous” meetings, but we’d probably all be pushing each other out of the doorway thirty seconds before the meeting is supposed to start, saying, “Get out of my way ass-hole, you should have thought about being late before you tried to cut me off,” and the meetings themselves would probably be filled with people yelling, “Hey, jerk, I think I was talking, what, do you think you’re god or something, show some respect.” God, and I know this is a problem of mine, I know this “Type A-ness” transcends into every realm of my life. When I get on the elevator in the morning to get to my office on the eighteenth floor, I try to make the doors close as quickly as possible so no one can get on the elevator with me, because you know, I really do hate all people and surely don’t want to be in a cramped confined space with a bunch of strangers. But when people do get on the same elevator as me, they invariably press the buttons for floors fifteen, sixteen and seventeen, and I start pursing my lips, stopping myself from saying, “Oh, you people couldn’t stand to walk a flight of stairs, you just had to press all of these buttons and stop me from getting to my god-damned floor in a reasonable amount of time.” Even walking on the sidewalk in the city, I always get stuck behind someone that’s a full foot shorter than me and a full thirty pounds heavier, someone who labors to walk very, very slowly, someone who actually sways rhythmically when they walk, like a metronome, or like a person standing on the edge of a dance floor, rocking back and forth, back and forth all too afraid to actually ask someone to dance, or else afraid to go out and dance and make a fool of themselves in front of the cool people who have figured out what rhythm really is. And I’m walking behind this person, almost tripping over myself because this walking pace is just unnaturally slow, so to pass the time until there’s an opening on the left side of the sidewalk so I can pass them and walk like a human being again I start to mimick them, swaying with my walk, more for my own entertainment than anyone else’s. Yes, more than a human being I’m a human doing, and I hate having to depend on the schedules of others in order to get ahead of them all. Yes, I am the person in line at the grocery store with three items, shifting my weight from foot to foot, frantically scanning the other lines, the person who wants to ask the person in front of them, “can’t I get in front of you, I’ve only got three items and you have two full crocery carts full of crap like Cheetos, Pepsi, fish sticks and Haagen Daz Cookie Dough ice cream.” Yes, I am the person who has four different sets of plans for any given evening because if any one event gets too boring I can pick up and say, “Oh, sorry, I’m supposed to be at a meeting by now,” instead of having to tell them that they’re too boring or that I just have no idea whatsoever of how to relax. Yes, I am the person who coasts toward an intersection when I know the timed pattern of the traffic lights, and know that I can manage to get to this intersection without ever having to make a complete stop so when that light does change I can accellerate faster than everyone else, pass everyone by, and have the open road to myself, wide open in front of me. I’m already guessing that at my funeral, when the long procession of cars is creeping toward the cemetary, I’ll be opening that casket up and whispering to the driver of the hearse, “hey, what do you say we floor it and blow everyone off in line? We could probably grab a beer at the corner bar and still be able to beat everyone to the grave site,” because, as I said, I’m a “Type A” person, and I’m going to make damn sure I do as much living as I possibly can, I’m not going down without a fight, and wherever that god-damned goal line is, I swear, I’ll beat everyone to it.

Get The Government Out Of Broadcasting by Janet Kuypers I would like to commend NBC’s stand on keeping the government out of regulating the broadcast industry. After pressure from the government as well as various organizations, the major networks uniformly adopted at television rating system, like the current system the movie industry uses to regulate content and inform viewers of movies. Since the enactment of this new system, however, groups have been complaining that the rating system in lpace does not tell viewers enough about why the shows received that rating. Is it because there is bad manguage? Is there sexual content? Id there violence? A “TV14” Rating doesn’t not discern one type of adult theme from another, and groups have been pushing for an adoption of a plan similar to the current system used by the Home Box Office cable channel - one with a list that quickly shows more of a program’s content, using such abbreviations as “SC for sexual content or “AL” for adult language. Then the government aggreed that this would be a good idea. So they asked the networks to come together and come up with a plan. The network NBC was the only major network that chose not to adopt the plan. They stated swiftly that it is not because they don’t want to tell people what the content of a given show is, but that they don’t want the government telling them to adopt a system. They also stated in press releases that they will be working on their own plan for a system that will help people better understand what exactly is on the shows they are about to watch. I applaud the fact the NBC was willing to distance themselves from appeasing the first group loud enough to be heard, when it may not be in NBC’s best interest to do so. More importantly, I applaud the fact the NBC was willing to distance themselves from government regulation, and that they were willing to state that that is exactly what they were doing. When individual citizens find something they don’t like about the goods and services they receive, they should not make it the government’s job to try to remedy the situation. The government is there to protect individual citizens from the force of others - not from television programming that one group of people or another might not like. I truly appreciate the fact that NBC concisely points out that it’s not that they don’t want to inform people about programming, if that’s what they want, but that don’t want that authority to be placed in the hands of an already-too-powerful government. NBC’s press release on the issue stated, “NBC has consistently stated that, as a matter of principle, there is no place for government involvement in what people watch on television. Viewers, not politicians or special interest groups, should regulate the remote control”. If people want to do something about broadcasting, they can request information on an individual basis or bring other individuals together into a group who have the same feelings in order to make information about programming easier to get. It is possible, as a citizen or a group of citizens, to make a difference - it isn’t necessary to expect the government to do it for you. Give a government some power, and they will eventually take more - see any dictatorship or any form of communism and socialism as an example (even see the history of our own government - we have been slowly losing more and more of our rights here in America). Thank you, NBC, for understanding that the rights of individuals also include the rights of business people - and those rights should not be given away so quickly.

Veggies of the World Unite by Janet Kuypers I’d like to tell you something about myself that usually scares most red-blooded Americans. I don’t want you to think I’m going to try to brainwash you, I don’t want you to think I’m going to give you a lecture. Just brace yourself, and hear me out. I’m a vegetarian. Okay, okay, don’t fly off the handle, I know you think I’m some sort of wacko that’s going to throw paint at you or chain myself to a tree. I swear, no such activities ever cross my mind (except in occasional circumstances that differ greatly from saving the planet, and that’s another story for another time). If you don’t think I’m crazy, well, thanks. But most everyone else seems to, and I honestly don’t know why. I’ve chosen to think about what I put in my mouth and why I put it there, and for that I’m considered crazy. Here, let me explain how I got to this point. I was travelling around the East Coast by car for New Year’s one year, I think it was three years ago. And I noticed that whenever we stopped for fast food I was eating a chicken sandwich. (Yes, this one odd little point is relevant in the story, just read on.) At one point in our trip we stopped at a hotel in the Pocinos for a night, and the hotel was a series of cabins instead of the usual high-rise. So as we were going to out room, outside, we found a cat. She had a collar on, so we knew she belonged to someone, someone probably travelling as well. She was a very friendly cat, an affectionate cat. So when we started to open the door to our hotel room, I said to the cat (why do we talk to animals anyway? It’s not like she ever would understand what I was saying), “Do you want to come in?” I thought she would stay outside and we could go into our rooms and that would be that. But she turned around and marched right into our room before us. So we had a new visitor. We played with the cat, we even took pictures of the cat, seeing that we had our cameras, being on vacation and all. And the cat knew humans. The cat responded to humans. The cat understood joy and pain. I could see that in what little interaction I had with the cat. Eventually we figured we better let the cat outside, she’s going to need to go to the bathroom, and besides, her family is probably looking for her. So we let her go. And we got in the car the next morning and started to drive home, still ten hours away. And then we approached lunch. We were stopping at a fast-food joint, I think Burger King. And then I made the connection. We in America look at certain animals as thinking, and certain animals as glorified plants. But it’s really only how we’ve been raised to think of these animals, the distinctions are only in our minds. That cat I saw the night before was a living, feeling creature. And in China that cat would have been hanging in the front window of a store, considered a delicacy. And in India the cow is sacred. So I said, let me try to not eat meat for a little while. You know, if I feel the urge to eat meat, I can have a chicken sandwich once every two weeks. But let me try this, to see how I feel about it. And with every day that passed, I wanted the consumption of meant out of my life more and more. I knew I made the right decision. It was a strange decision for me to make. I had never thought of being a vegetarian before. I don’t know why it popped into my head at that moment - why I decided to make this kind of change then. I always knew that cats and dogs were eaten in other cultures. I always knew that the cow was sacred in India. I always knew that meat was eaten the most in America - because of our global overabundance of wealth. So I decided to try it. And I’ve never looked back. Okay, now comes the onslaught of questions, I’m sure. So, do you try to convert others? So, do you harass hunters and people who wear fur coats? Well, I don’t think so... Well, okay, maybe a little. So sue me for wanting to make the world a better place.

What Are Flexible Ethics? by Janet Kuypers The Lutheran Brotherhood compiled the following statistics: Nearly two-thirds of all adults believe ethics “vary by situation” or that there is no “unchanging ethical standard or right and wrong.” Nearly eighty percent of all adults from age 18 to 34 believe ethics vary by situation, but even forty-eight percent af all adults aged 65 and up believe ethics vary by situation. Never did a majority of adults believe that there is one standard for every situation. Now, I needed to look up the word “ethics” to make sure I wasn’t getting confused with my terms. According to Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (Tenth Edition), “ethic” has the following meanings: 1. the discipline dealing with what is good and bad and with moral duty and obligation, 2. a set of moral principles or values, 3. a theory or system of moral values, 4. the principles of moral conduct governing an individual or a group, 5. a guiding philosophy. This made me want to look up “moral,” just to make sure I had this all clear: 1. of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior, 2. expressing or teaching a conception of right behavior, 3. conforming to a standard of right behavior, 4. sanctioned by or operative on one’s conscience or ethical judgement. What these statistics say is that eighty percent of adults from age 18 to 34 believe that what is “right” and “wrong,” what is “good” and “bad,” can change from situation to situation. What these statistics say is that eighty percent of adults from age 18 to 34 believe that the principles guiding themselves and change from moment to moment. What these statistics say is that eighty percent of adults from age 18 to 34 believe that a “guiding philosophy” cannot be consistent. I looked at these numbers and was astounded. If the philosophy an individual uses to guide their life is not consistent, it’s not a philosophy at all. Consider it from a religious standpoint. In Catholicism, for instance, you should not have sex before marriage, or commit adultery. Religious leaders may forgive an individual if they have sinned, their god may forgive them if they repent, but in Chritsianity is it wrong to have sex before marriage or commit adultery. But there are Catholics who break both of these promises they have made with their religion - with their philosophy. And although the adulterers may ask forgiveness, there are Catholics who claim to be Catholics but still have no problem with having sex before marriage (as long as you don’t get caught, I suppose). But what this means is that these Catholics have claimed one philosophy and followed another. If they really believed in their Catholic ethics, they would not want to break them. It’s that simple. And this was in no way to pick on Catholicism versus any other religious belief - or any belief system, for that matter, that an individual claims to follow but does not follow - it is merely to show that a belief system is consistent, and it is the individuals who choose not to follow it consistently. Consider, as another example, the fourth definition of “ethic.” What if the principles of moral conduct for a group that you were in weren’t consistent, what if they changed from situation to situation? What if one week it supported you as a member of the group because you got a job at a good business, for being good at what you do, and the next week they were condemning you because a black person should have had the job instead of you? What if one week the group supports your skill in creating a new product to improve people’s lives, the next week they are telling you that your time is better spent feeding people who don’ t work for themselves? What if one week the group said they should support life and wouldn’t let a woman in the group get an abortion, and the next week it decided it should reject life and kill your brother, who was falsely accused of murder and is in prison? What if one week the group said the government should lower taxes, and the next week it proclaims that it’s the government’s responsibility to help the poor, with more of your tax dollars? I won’t even talk about the fact that this “group” is merely a collection of individuals, each with rights that should not be violated. I won’t even talk about you as an individual having the right to your own life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. But imagine not knowing what laws will be enacted, not knowing what freedoms will be given to you and what freedoms will be taken away. Imagine not being able to gauge what will happen to your future. This is what it’s like to have ethics that “vary by situation.” This is what is currently happening in our society today - people do not have a consistent set of values, of morals, of theics - and it makes living a chronic state of terror. Why do people, knowing these inconsistencies, living as if there are no absolutes, why do people continue to live this way? Our current philosophy classes teach people that “the world is in chaos.” That “you can’t make a difference.” They question whether you can prove that you’re not dreamiung through your entire life, or tell you that you can’t even prove if you are merely a part of someone else’s dream and do not even exist. They tell you to answer any difficult question with, “How should I know? I’m only human.” People are rational beings - that’s what separates us from animals. People need to use their rational faculties in order to thrive. But they can choose not to use their mind - and the consequences are evident in the current trends in philosophy. People, when faced with these alternatives for philosophy, turn to the religion that was forced down their throats as a child, to the same religion forced down their parent’s throats when they were children, and claim that as their philospphical system. But they don’t really believe in it, they don’t really follow it. But they need something, their mind keeps telling them, they need some sort of system of beliefs. And so they keep telling their mind to shut out the fact that the system they chose isn’t working for them. But what they should be doing is listening to their minds, following logic and reason, so that they can find a consistent set of answers to every question they face in life.

women without men by Janet Kuypers Women struggle with this every day. Oh, that such an awful way to start this off, because no men believe that women have it rough. Women don’t have to go to work if they don’t want to. Women don’t have to worry about hard-ons in public. I’ve been struggling with writing all of this down. I want to let people that women feel like they are doing something wrong if they don’t have a man. But I think that men would laugh at this. I think men would say it’s not that bad. I keep thinking that men will never understand this, no matter how hard I try to explain it to them. I mean, how do men feel like they have to fit in? How do they feel like they’re less of a man if they aren’t wanted by a certain group? Is that as prevalent for men as it is for women? Men can be bachelors late in their thirties, and it’s attributed to theire desire to be free, their ability to not get tied down, while women are looked at as failures. But how do I explain that to men? I should ask around. I mean, do men feel like they have to fit into this image of masculenity? Do men feel like they have to try out for the football team, even if they don’t want to? And do they feel like a failure when they can’t just be themselves, when something else is expected of them? Maybe I could explain it like this to men: 1. Think of the idea of being famous and liked only because you were the son of someone who was famous. Like, you know, the president’s son (think of Ron Reagan, for instance) or a movie star’s son, or even think of all the attention being placed on Princess Diana’s children now, even though they were princes, now they’re only getting a ton of attention now that she’s passed away. 2. Now think about being raised to gain fame or acceptance only because of who you happen to be related to, whether it be a movie star or nobility. That you don’t matter, that only the people you’re related to matter. That if you aren’t related to someone with that kind of pull, you better marry someone with that kind of pull, or you’ll be nobody. Or at least marry soneone, because if you can’t even marry someone there’s no point of trying to succeed in any circles. Well, could they take the leap and see that women have been taught that the only way they can become anything is to be attached to a man, the way that son would be attached to the movie star? And what kind of life is led trying to be attached to someone instead of trying to be the best yourself? And what kind of world is it that says you’re nothing unless you’re attached to someone else, that you’re not enough on your own? So this is what I’m struggling with. How to even explain what the feeling is like to be a woman, exepect to be attached to a man, to half the world. Trust me, they think you’re crazy. Well, the thing is, yeah, it is crazy to feel that as a woman you have to be attached to someone like that. That being in something as destructive as an abusive relationship is better than being alone, because if you had to end the relationship everyone would think you weren’t a good woman. That you were a failure. Obviously, however, women feel it. And have felt it. It’s evident in the records of domestic abuse. Of rape. And of marriages that have plodded along unhappily, because the woman in the relationship decided not to make waves. Do stick with it for the children’s sake. It’s evident in the fact that older single women are called “old maids.” It’s evident in the fact that women try to catch a mate while men try to avoid the ball-and-chain. It’s evident when people refer to women going to college to get their “M.R.S.” degree, to find a man. And if there are all of these factors telling women all of their lives that they need a man by their side, a man to take care of them, a man to make life easier for them, why wouldn’t they play that role? Women are read fairy tales where a damsel in distress is saved by her knight in shining armour. Women saw their father go off to work and their mother take care of them. Women got teased and called a tom boy for liking non-feminine things. Women even change their title, much less their name - mron miss to misses - when they finally get to have to hold a man. Societal influences from day one nudge women into this role, to depend on men. So then what? So then they’re abused. Physically beaten by a brutal mate. Or mentally abused, told they’re worthless, that they’ll never get any better. And their choices are: They can leave the man that they’ve been told all their lives they need, or They can stick with what they have, because they think it’s better than nothing. Does this explain why battered wives don’t leave their husbands? Okay, I know I seem to be going on a lot of tangents here, but all of these things relate to each other. The point of this essay is that just as it’s silly and hard to imagine a man would HAVE to ride the coat tails of someone else in order to achieve anything in life, so should be the same for women. Women can succeed on their own, whether or not they happen to be in a relationship with a man or not. But women have been taught not to think that way. And when they do happen to stand up for themselves, they’re often ridiculed for it. And it’s an uphill battle to overcome these influences, the teachings of society, of their family, of their mate. But it can be done. A healthy mind, a desire to achieve, determination, these are the things that help you succeed in life. Not in someone else. In yourself.

Change Your Clothes What am I supposed to wear so that I fit in to the right role There is always a role to be played with you I’ve played so many roles I’m getting quite good at it, actually I’ve played so many roles for the likes of you I have dressed like a school marm to impress your parents so they don’t think we fuck I have worn a business suit and the skirt always seemed a little short because I am so damned tall but either way, I would look professional when playing that fucking female card for all it is worth and showing off my legs I have gone to a different bar every night and I have dressed like a whore I get the button-down shirt buttoned always too low I wear the ripped shorts ripped shorts intentionally ripped too short Jesus, I’ve even worn simple dresses with wide skirts and those pricks think I’m sexy wearing something like a wide skirt which doesn’t show any of my curves and they like me in it brcause the skirt is wide enough that they can crawl into it and I don’t even want to know what they want to do with me in that position while they are under that dress you’re a fuck, you’re a flower you have the mania, you have the power you have the right, girl all you have to do is change your roles and change your clothes

Hasn’t Happened Yet and people can tell me otherwise people can give me compliments and the compliments are never enough it’s never what i want to hear it would be nice if the right someone came along and told me everything I needed to hear but that hasn’t happened yet people keep trying to make me feel better they talk about the sunrises and the stars in the sky and the babbling book that is a couple of blocks from my house but I don’t see those things I never do when I look right over my shoulder to see the beauty in things well, I never get to the beauty part I never get there so no, I don’t know what the answers are and I don’t know how to make things better for me things haven’t gotten better yet and I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do I guess my only choice is to keep trying

Like My Motto It is so easy to hope for things It is easy, I guess, when you’ve got nothing to hope for something because it is nice to think that there is someone out there for you and you will have a happy ending I know women who think that it would be nice if there was a nice rich guy that would come along and sweep them off their feet and then for the rest of their lives they could east bon bons and watch movies on their television and they could decide where their adopted child will go for private school I never said I understood that way but I know that ideology exists And at times I just get tired of fighting it I figure that no one is listening to me and I figure that this whole hope thing is over, well, overdone Over-rated Overly confusing Over-something So I’m wondering that if I’m getting tired of fighting it, well, why am I even fighting any of this? Everyone has been stepping all over me, so why don’t I just get used to the whole cycle Stop fighting Get used to it These are the words I have to keep telling myself until they are like my motto

What We Are Supposed To Do I played with Barbies for years I made clothes for the female dolls I never thought about the fact that their toes were always poinged and their breats were always hard and plastic maybe those pointed feet said something about how women are always supposed to stand on their toes to make their legs look better for men to make it harder for them to walk I mean, how are you supposed to go around in your life always walking around on your tows? maybe those pointed feet said something about how being short is a bad thing and being taller like a man is a better thing maybe those plastic breasts said something about plastic surgery and how women should be better how men want women with bigger breasts how they want something they can look at and odjectify something to make them novel and something less than a man maybe those plastic breasts said something about how breasts should be perky and never sag like having breasts actually do, if you have them I mean, Barbies never had bras because they never needed them because well, they had eternally perky plastic breasts and plastic skin and a plastic head that was hollow in side and a plastic everything I can take a Barbis doll now and squeeze her head and it just crunches like well, a big piece of plastic because well, there’s nothing in there Aren’t girls not supposed to have brains anyway? This was how we were trained This is what we are supposed to do and they still teach this and I don’t know how to fight against all these years of a slanted view of how men view women and how women view women I can look at Barbies and think that there is nothing inside of them there is nothing real to them and it is not the Barbie that bothers me it is all of the ideas that come with it

I Don’t Want To I don’t want to make a million bucks I don’t want to worry about beauty first I don’t want to do everything myself I don’t want to let everyone do things for me I don’t want to help the poor I don’t want to give up what I have earned But I don’t think I earned this And I don’t think I’m being punished For a deed I did not committ Who am I supposed to apologize to Who am I supposed to accountable Who am I supposed to forgive I don’t want to think about the bad stuff but the bad stuff keeps coming back To haunt me And I don’t like it I don’t want to live this way, and I don’t want to keep paying for someone else’s sins people tell me I’m being pessimistic when I say I don’t want to But at least it proves, at least, That I am angry, and That I live And I do

Becoming a Woman When I was young I never had any lessons in how to become a woman Maybe my girlfriends were supposed to tell me those things But no one did No one explained to me the science behind it all No one explained to me the blood you have to deal with Every month No one explained to me the potential pain Having it feel like there are little people inside you Like little elves Just kicking at the insides of you No one explained to me that this is the beauty Of being a woman I thought women had enough to fight against to begin with Now that I am looking back That is what I think now But I didn’t know that then My health education classes talked about organs That were drawn (You wouldn’t want the kids to actually see this) That were displayed on a slide projector Ah, the beauties of modern science We can make images of genetailia look huge on a screen It’s a shame you can’t do that in real life Ah, wello, you can always fantasize The health education classes explained these details To children that were not interested When children think that something doesn’t relate to them They don’t care Well, neither do adults, come to think of it But that is anotehr story for another time These strangers were talking about something inside of us They were talking about how it worked No one was listening One day I noticed When I was sitting in my bedroom, reading a book There was blood on my pants So I guess the process had started for me So I went downstairs Told my mom I needed some pads She said she would but some right away for me That was all the talking we did about it I mean, that is what I took a health class for, right? I nerver got a talk about the birds and the bees I nerver got a talk about how to stay away from boys well, the boys weren’t calling me anyway How, as a parent, do you start this How do you start a talk like this How do you know what to do when raising a child Maybe you just hope that everything works out okay Maybe you just hope that she knows what to do Maybe you just hope that she becomes a woman

Without You Getting Something Is that a silly way to put it? Maybe it is And I am getting so poor at the thing This writing down ideas thing And I know that this is what I think And feel and hope and know And you would think I would be good at it Was just going over notes today And it made me think of you It made me wonder how you were with her I think you’re with her because she Pays more of the rent bill that way That’s just my theory And I’m sure you would think of being here with me instead But I think that now I am engaged It would be harder for you To get something from me Maybe it would be harder Without you getting something from me I’m sure you have had to get used to that Because I am sure I have had to get used to Not getting what I want This whole life thing Really amounts to one big let-down after another sometimes That’s just my theory And I hope I haven’t let you down Because I know you haven’t let me down And if I have, well, I hope I don’t continue to let you down

Smart Thing To Do There are so many things I have wanted So many things I have wanted from you There are so many things That have scared me Are we being safe Is this the smart thing to do And maybe the smart thing to do Is to just avoid you And get it over with And maybe the smart thing to do Is to get my arm around your neck And drag your sorry ass to me Because I have wanted you at my lips And I have wanted that for a while And there is only so much I can do To stop myself from staying away from you And maybe the smart thing to do Is to just sit here Until you come to me And when you get here Well, it is MINE, now, And that is when I let it all go The way I want it to be It is at moments like this When I want just about everything from you And I want to wrap my legs around you And I want to push you into me And I want to push your life into me And for just a few moments I want to feel nothing else than this ME thing, And this YOU thing, And I keep thinking about this US thing And that “just a moment” thing is lasting a lifetime And for once, that does not scare me And that makes me want So much more with you And so much more from you And Hell, I do not know How this poem ends I guess it is called life And I will not be able to finish this Until my life is over And Hell, I will not be writing then You know Just know that I want you And that I will want you And that can last for now And that it will last a lifetime

We All Want That Not a lot of people think about killing themselves I mean, not a lot of people think of it as a real option, because I mean, when things get tough, when you get the bad breaks, well, they get better eventually they do and no one wants to think about the bad stuff and everyone wants to see the light at the end of the tunnel and no one wants to think that bad things can happen to them it’s like they think they are invincible or something but sometimes things don’t work out that way and no, you don’t want to think about the bad stuff and you want to think about the things that are supposed to make life grand for you we all want that, don’t we

driving car into ditch sometimes it just makes more sense i mean do things make more sense to everyone else can people see the sense in anything? maybe I shouldn’t turn the wheel of my car maybe I should aim for the side of the road maybe it could be a quick and painless death that way maybe it could

Magnum Opus You wanted my magnum opus Well, here it is, baby You wanted to know that bad things Can happen to me Well, they can Trust me, they can I had saved enough money for a while, & I was fine with that & then I was told I should become a model So I applied to the first place I saw an ad for & they wanted me & I know, I know, this sounds like A good story, so far Another model told me Never work for a place That asks for a fee to be paid to work for them & this place asked for a fee But I thought, I have the money saved, This is no problem for me, so I signed up Then I was there for a photo shoot one day & they needed someone to start working In their ordering department What am I saying, that person WOULD be their ordering department & I said I could do it & I was hired on the spot This is where this story gets more interesting, I swear, baby & this is where the screwing over begins Because being on the inside & seeing how things are run from the inside & not from the model’s point of view Well, I got to see how much of a scam this place really was The building, all the offices & the runway Were in one room with no walls & the office was no larger than my living room & the owner spent half of each day there & the rest of the day working out Or going to the country club or Doing something else that none of his meager employees Got the chance to do & he kept that air conditioning blasted Like my father always would In our living room When us kids watched television & we were on the couch With blankets covering our feet & legs Well, the boss would have the air conditioning on, & he would have no regard for whether his employees Were freezing or not My theory is that he kept it cold So that when he took the pornographic pictures The women would have hard nipples & while he was at it He would pay his employees Next to nothing & he would care more about the cables that he very unsafely left Strewn about in the main room (I’m sure O.S.H.A. would say that was a safety hazard) ( ... I’m sure of it) As I was saying, he would care more about his camera equipment These inanimate objects Than the people that chose to work for him He once told me that there was a six hundred dollar cable on the floor & I wanted to tell that sorry bastard That had the money to buy this whole fucking building & if O.S.H.A. came in they could snag his ass for an unsafe working environment & that if someone was late, paying them two dollars An hour was illegal, & with the shit That I’ve got on him With all this evidence, I tell you I could get our team of lawyers on him & take this whole scam - I mean, excuse for a company - away from him I’m sure he doesn’t have any lawyers covering his sorry ass in case a problem like that would occur & the thing is, I have those lawyers I do & I would hear my coworker Chantene tell me she wanted to quit & I would hear Joanne tell me she was going to quit & I found out that the hired & fired Juanita in the Two-week span I was working there & everyone there was unhappy working & Chantene talked about the idea of taking a magnum to his ass She had thought of it, of shooting him on more than one occasion & I made a decision then I decided to keep my mouth shut Because he could still keep money away from me as a model Because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle & he could still choose not to use my photographs in their magazine But I figured, Hell, this pointless irritating inexcusable childless dehumanizing humiliating backwards scam of an Insane job Has to have some utility for me In working here, I have lost my time But I sure the fuck didn’t get Enough money Or any peace of mind For it So I decided to work enough to cover my ass - I mean, my fee - From becoming a model in the first place That after two weeks When my near full-time job Couldn’t even cover my rent I put in my two week notice & I quit Yeah, I quit I think it’s my record for the shortest time I have had a job I got to learn a ton of things while I was there & I learned more in my last two weeks They are the most unorganized, disorganized bunch of clods I have ever worked for Because everyone has to do things by the boss’ back-ass rules that make no sense They had no database for their orders Or their models So they had to make xerox copies in triplicate of every order that came in & file them in different places One by date ordered, One by name (& yes, By the first letter of their LAST NAME, no more So “MADISON” could be after “MULROONEY”) & one in the back for their permanent filing When they do interviews They act like their video camera works & it hasn’t for a while So someone there acts like they are using the camera So the models feel like they are being video taped The owner asks his employees To act cordial & civil & tells them in the same breath That they are not allowed to talk to anyone trying to get a job there & that employees should be taking care of the phone When they have not even been told how to Put people on hold Or transfer calls Or get people off of hold I wonder how many people I have disconnected unintentionally that way I wonder if there’s anything else I can get out of this place I’ve become friends with the coworkers & they can give me a copy Of pictures I take as a model with them Grr... I can’t believe I have to go through all of this... & today is my last day of work & I’m scheduled to do a modeling shoot & I hope I get to have some of the picture back Chantene said she’d e-mail them to me Which is cool I’ll even bring a floppy disk & a computer with me Just to be sure But I’ve had it with the “You don’t get any break time” shit & “Know how to do this” Even though something has never been explained to you I found out here that If the boss takes the pictures There is a greater chance of getting into the catalog & if we women take the photographs Well, the model has a very SMALL chance then One of my coworkers also told me That the boss asks most everyone to be a model Doesn’t THAT do something for MY self-esteem Well, you gotta make a profit SOMEHOW, I guess Well, you gotta get the coin SOMEHOW, I guess If from selling the clothing The only profit you make is from jacking up the shipping price I’m counting down the minutes now I keep thinking that it IS my last day & I’ve got an hour & fifteen minutes left When here, who are you supposed to answer to & what the Hell are you supposed to be doing & I only have one day left & I’ll have to be putting on make-up & curling my hair As he is getting his glorious camera equipment (You know, the shit that is more valuable than the people that work for him) As he is getting his glorious camera equipment All set up So consider this my magnum opus, Mother fucker This is my change to say all the things that I couldn’t All the things that I really think That everyone really thinks here &, you know, This isn’t even beginning to scratch the fucking surface & I hope on some level you know what I’m doing & I hope you’re enjoying your shit sandwich & I hope you don’t get too much stuck on your chin & I hope you lick it up, baby, lick it up So, go ahead Go ahead & get all the glorious camera equipment All set up Well, set it up, baby & take the glorious photographs With your fucking digital camera & make me look just fabulous Because after today That is my job That is your job & then you can never ask any more of me Remember THAT, you son of a bitch

Against My Will There have been so many times Where I have been raped Not that some man Some quote unquote man Had physically held me down Has forced himself inside me Against my will That way is just to obvious Not the “someone tried To beat me up” thing Because that is old news If you have done the research I have If you have gone through what I have If you have lived the life that I have Because You know I should be above this I should be a feminist With a capital fucking F I guess with that in mind I should not mind the cat calls Or the whistles Or the fact that the word “woman” Is the word “man” With a couple of letters tacked on Like how “she is “he” with an “s” Like we’re an extension of them Or the fact that men First look at me By looking at my breats And not my eyes I should be aware That a woman with power Instills fear And a woman with power in a company Can still be demoted outside of the company Where she can still be down-played I can handle the jokes About being a blond Or being dumb Or being both I can hear the line Always said insultingly That we HAVE to be irrational Because we are so damn emotional I mean How can you trust something That bleeds for five days every month And doesn’t die? Fine If they want to brush off Everything that makes us strong Fine If they say we can not hold a job Fine We will just depend on you for money And work on our OWN jobs On our OWN time And stash enough away for our OWN little nest-egg And how much money are you boys going to have when it comes to the end of your family line? How much of a life are you boys going to have when it comes to the end of your family line? How much happiness? * Note that “Feminist with a capital F” is from a poem by Joanna Marshall. Also note that “End of your family line” is is reference to “The End of The Family Line” by Steven Morrissey.

A Least That’s What I Hear There are so many things I’ve tried to do with my life and there are so many things that I’ve wanted and there are so many things that I just took care of myself well, there are just so many things and I don’t know if I can even get close to any of one the things I want I don’t know if I can touch them I don’t know if I can make everything better I don’t know if something is supposed to come along and save the day There are any things that have disappointed me in my life and there are so many things that have never happened and that is the part that has never worked out the way I planned things always have that effect on me, you know it’s easy to get disappointed about things when you think about them too much you can just try to ignore all the bad stuff or just try to change y our whole way of thinking or you can just try to be okay with all the bad stuff happening and maybe you can be okay with just having a little and just being alone all I have to say is that the last option there isn’t an easy one but it might save you at the bottom line at least that’s what I hear

You Would Know If You Were Here Janet Kuypers This is a toast to you And I know full well that you can not hear me And I know full well that you can not touch me And I know full well that you can not remember me But I still toast to you Maybe it is because I remember too much And maybe I want things to be different And maybe you know the difference Maybe you would know if you were here I bought these wine glasses recently After you died Because they lookined like the glasses we Almost got When you came to visit me And you took a day off of work And no, you have never been around with me To drink from this glass With me But I still think of it as ours And I toasted to you with this glass I said to you in this toast, This is for all that almost happened And this is for all the things that Could have happened, and would have happened And here is to all that you have taught me Because I have been through a lot, you know And I didn’t think you would add to my misery Or my joy And here I am Thinking about it all And I am mixing red wine with beer Half and half In one of these glasses And I am all alone In my apartment Wondering what it would have been like If you were here And I had a different set of battles to fight But But now I’ve got a different set of battles to fight And a different set of battles to win And oddly enough, with all that we have gone through You have helped me though this I would never wish what happened to you To happen to someone else And you would tell me that If you were here You would be angry at me because I would think that drinking through my problems Would be the easiest solution You would be angry at me For my giving up my hope And you would remind me That I am a worthwhile human being And that I am talented, and strong And that I am a fighter And it is fitting, in a way, That I am toasting to you with a combination Of cheap wine and cheaper beer But it is the way that you would live If you were here You would live every minute to the fullest You would celebrate everything And you would toast to it

letter to a troubled friend I’ve never been able to tell you how I feel, because you never let me. When I try to say something, and believe me, I try to do it in the most tactful way possible and I only begin to scrape the surface, you react in one of the following ways: 1) You cut me off, get defensive, say you never do these things. 2) You go through denial, and say I’m overreacting, because your behavior is normal. 3) You apologize, but the behavior never changes. No one wants to deal with a sour reaction, especially when you’re trying to tell them something is wrong. I’ve pussy-footed around you through subjects such as your work, your family, the men in your life and the men in mine, your surgery - you name it, and all because I can never tell you when there is something wrong. I’ve wanted to confront you, but you make it impossible. I really feel like I have gone above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to maintaining a friendship with you. In fact, I think that a lot of the time the work I have put into it has been very uneven in comparison to what you have done. But I was willing to do it; I cared about you as a friend. I’ve noticed a change in you in the past few years. When you were in college, you were still being supported by your parents, you had the love of your life with you. Since you have been on your own, you have no direction and no one to share your life with. From what I can gather, this behavior now relates to your feeling insecure about yourself and seeking positive reinforcement in men. They can be men with whom you have no future with, men that are gay and you have no chance with, men you have no interest in, or men who are abusive at best. You’ve gone after men that fit all of these examples. They can even be men I’ve expressed interest in, or men I’m dating - and then they would be an additional boost to you because someone would like you more than me. I have seen this self-destructive behavior in you and I have known that for the most part there was nothing I could do or say about it, because you never listen to me. You don’t want to hear it from me. You get angry when I try to tell you what I see. You call me a therapist. And I don’t want to get the third degree when I’m trying to help you. If you think you really need other people to boost your ego, maybe you should realize that the only person that can make you feel good is you. All this work you are doing in manipulating other men only makes you feel worse inside - because it is costing you yourself. You have to start working on what the real underlying problems in your life are and finally face them head-on. Until then you are only going to lose more friends, be used by more men, and feel like you have gone nowhere in life. I have overlooked many double-standards in our friendship. If I talk to my boyfriend more than you in a single conversation, you pout and get mad, but as long as you have another friend with you, you can ignore me for literally hours in a social setting, then ditch me, and I’m not supposed to be angry. Yes, this has happened before. My boyfriend putting his arm around me in front of you would remind you of your ex and depress you, but when you make out with a friend of mine - after he flies across the country to visit me for only a short time - I’m not allowed to react. You expect me to take all of my savings and my only weeks vacation and spend it alone with you when I could be with the man I planned to marry, but if you were still going out with your ex, I would never see you, much less have the chance to think about spending a vacation with you. In fact, if I ever suggested a vacation where your boyfriend wasn’t allowed (and yes, you flat-out said my boyfriend wasn’t allowed with us), you’d scream at how inconsiderate I was. You can call me every swear word in the book, but I can say one wrong word - call you child for acting like one, for instance - and you’ll instantly be set off into another mood swing. I flew across the country and entertained you for a weekend because I wanted you to be happy. It’s not as if I’ve ever had anything but your interests in mind. Only now have I realized how much it has cost me. How much you have hurt me. I’ve tried telling you over and over again when something is wrong, and your reaction is usually denial or defensiveness. Especially last time. A guy I’ve gone on two dates with doesn’t matter to me. You do. And that’s why it hurt more than most anything any other friend has done to me. I saw your behavior. You were drunk, and paying every ounce of your attention to him. If you weren’t planning anything, you wouldn’t have waited outside my apartment after I said good-bye to you in order to see him. You did it secretly, behind my back, because you didn’t want me to know what you were doing. You say you don’t remember our discussion (if that’s how drunk you were), but in my bedroom, I told you about me and him, that we had gone on dates, that I was somewhat interested in him, because I noticed your behavior earlier in the evening, and it was hurting me even then. Your response was, “Oh, Janet, I would never do anything like that.” Then that’s exactly what you did. You threw any trust I had for you in my face. You really showed me in one evening how little you cared for me. You can’t tell me otherwise. If this is another example of how you seem to need attention from men, then realize that you were willing to jeopardize what you called your best friend for it, and that you have a problem. If you don’t remember anything from the evening, then you may have a drinking problem. Either way, there are issues there that you have to address, and I don’t think I am strong enough to carry your problems quietly for you anymore when you are unwilling to face those problems yourself. I almost didn’t write this letter. I’ve asked friends what I should do. One person, who didn’t know you, said I should give you another chance. They were the only one that said that. One said that you didn’t care enough about me, that I tried as hard, or harder, than was ever expected of me, and nothing will change with you, so I should just let it go. One said it was about time I ended our friendship, because all I have been doing was complaining and struggling to keep you happy. One said they can’t see me as a difficult person to be friends with, because I’m forgiving and don’t ask for much. That these problems in our friendship don’t stem from a lack of my trying, and don’t even stem from me. One person, after seeing you at the party, was very disturbed with your behavior in general. They said they would swear you were on drugs, and I couldn’t tell them if they were right or not. They said you looked like you have seen something the rest of the world doesn’t know about, and that it had made you very depressed, like you were over the edge, like there was absolutely no hope, and that you just didn’t seem to care about yourself anymore. I can’t fight that. I can’t fight feelings like that. If you feel like you hate yourself, then there is nothing I can do for you. If you really think nothing matters, that you can’t feel anything anymore, if you’re not willing to help yourself, then I can’t help either, and I never could. Trying to help you was then pointless. Trying to please you was pointless. In all the times I’ve tried to tell you how I feel, I usually got defensiveness or denial from you. Never once were you concerned about how I felt. I told you over the phone that last time that you hurt me more than you ever had - more than probably any friend ever had. You didn’t care about that, though. I don’t think you ever did. And that is what also hurts. I don’t think you do care, and I don’t think you know how to care. I don’t know what to do anymore, and I don’t know that there is anything that I can do. Or should do. The ball is not in my court, as you have put it in the past, but it is in yours. It always has. It is up to you to make yourself better. To help yourself. This is not a healthy friendship. You have to make yourself whole first. I’ve seen you degenerate over the past few years. It was one thing when we were still growing up to not know what you wanted to do with your life. It was even normal to feel so confused that you’d go through mood swings. But it has gotten worse. Mood swings become event where you have to tip-toe around, be careful of everything you say. Sometimes knowing that there’s nothing you can say. I don’t know what to say anymore. You don’t let me say anything. You don’t listen. You need attention, but I can’t give you enough. I don’t think anyone can. I’m not writing this letter in an effort to save our friendship. I’ve received no indication that you want to change, to help yourself. Even your last letter to me was only an effort to clear your name, to make you look better, to make sure someone knew what you thought. You didn’t write that letter for me; I’ve seen you go through this with some of your men, wanting to write them letters to get the last word in. You wrote it for you, to make yourself feel like you’ve had your say. It wasn’t out of concern for me. It never is. You are the one that did this to yourself, and only you can change you. Remember that: you are the one that did this, to you, to me, to what friendship we had. All of this is because of you. There is nothing I can do about it anymore, and I’m not going to sit back and take your behavior anymore. I shouldn’t have to. You’ve been in therapy for years. You’ve spent a lot of time and money talking to a person every week for years. What has it shown you? What have you learned? You’ve told me that you sometimes won’t tell her things solely because you don’t feel like talking about something, or because you don’t think she should know it. If you’re not willing to share there things, how is she supposed to help you? She doesn’t see a full picture of who you are. Are you just going to her for the attention? I hope you actually read this letter, not read it and then throw it away because it’s not what you want to hear, but read it, and listen to what I’m telling you. Show it to your therapist. Let her see a different side of the story. Listen for yourself to a different side of the story. You’ve never thought of how other people perceive you, at least not realistically. Figure out what it takes to make you like yourself again. Or for the first time. I can’t make you do that. No one can. Not your family, friends, not your therapist, not your current abusive man. Most of those people are out for themselves as well, and might hurt you in the process. Find yourself. I don’t know where your hope lies, or if you could ever still have hope. I just know that if you don’t change, and I’ve seen no reason to believe you will, and if I still remain your friend, you’ll only keep hurting me, having no regard for me. A friend shouldn’t make me feel this way. I have to let go. You hurting me is doing neither of us any good. I’ve been a crutch to you; you’ve been a burden to me. I can’t take that burden anymore, and you shouldn’t have the crutch. Do something for yourself. I can’t be your friend if you keep falling the way you have been. I don’t want you to fall, but I can’t pick you up anymore. Only you can help you.

I remember by janet kuypers I remember the hot tub party at the end of our junior year. Remember how I begged you to take me, because it was a date dance and not a casual party? You already had a date so you set me up with Reedy, and I thought it was just an innocent friendship set-up... Ugh, what a mess, there I was, trying to push him away from me, and then Chad came along and saved me. I have pictures of us from that night, in the hot tub together, with Tres, who won the palest-man-at-the-party award, or photos inside, with plastic lais around our necks. I remember when we went to the They Might be Giants concert and managed to get seats in the third row. The two of us, along with four other strangers, then yelled requests at the band when they weren’t playing music. I still can’t believe we actually got them to respond to us while they were in the middle of a show. I remember when we were travelling through Boston, how we stopped at Cheers to take our picture in front of the front door. We were soaking wet because it was raining on our only day in Boston. But we followed all the painted red lines on the streets to find historical landmarks, stood on the torture devises on the sidewalks, took pictures everywhere. And when we drove to Harvard campus, we took pictures of ourselves looking “intelligent” - looking upward, hands under our chin, poised in thought, looking as tacky as possible. I remember how we would sit in my dorm room, in the window sill, feet hanging outside, my stereo blaring. You used to always joke that one day you’d push me out the window. But we’d sit there, listening to music, singing to people that would walk in front of my window. Remember how we’d sing to Potholes in My Lawn by De La Soul or Pump Up the Jam by Technotronic or Hoe Down by Special Ed. How you thought the lines to Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might be Giants wasn’t “This is a recording” but “Give it to me, give it to me.” How you thought the lines to Headhunter by Front 242 wasn’t “Three you slowly spread the net” but “Three you slowly spread the legs.” We’d sing, make people look up at us, and either wave or laugh. Yesterday was the first day that I hadn’t cried for you. Those first two days had been so hard, I might have been fine for a half hour and then something would trigger it in my mind and I would want to cry. I thought maybe I’m getting used to the news, but today I cried again. I remember the Valentine’s Dance we went to together. It was at your fraternity house, you came over, dressed up in a nice suit, I was wearing a red strapless Vanna White-style dress, and you came over and you looked so mad. “Why are you mad?” “I just came from the house, it’s an hour before the dance, and everyone is wearing jeans watching the basketball game. Decorations aren’t even up.” I look at my dress. “So what you’re saying is that I’m overdressed?” We decided to take pictures of us dressed up before I changed dresses. We went through a few photos, then I changed into a more casual, cotton, off-the-shoulder dress. We took more pictures with outfit number two. Then I felt a breeze. Apparently there was a rip in the back of the dress, making it indecent at best. So, back to the closet I went, found a casual black dress, and so we took yet more pictures. Then off to the dance we went. I remember how you’d come over to my dorm on Sunday nights, and we’d order pizza, usually Grog’s, Home of Mold, I think, and spend the evening together. We’d play Stand by R.E.M. and do the dance they do in the video. Or we’d play Madonna’s Vogue and you’d contort yourself around. Once we even spent the evening writing up lists of exes, like we were in high school. I remember how we met - I was sitting in the cafeteria with the other girls from my dorm, and you were friends with them so you sat down and ended up right across the table from me. And it was right after Christmas break and I just got back from visiting my parents in Florida and was tan, so your first words to me were, “Is that a real tan?” And I was so mad at you, I though you were a cocky jerk. “Well, you could have gone to a tanning salon over vacation!” I don’t know how that could have been the start of one of the best friendships of my life. And when you called me on the phone to tell me the news you still sounded so happy. Your viewpoint was that anyone could die at any point in time and we have to live every day to the fullest. “And I could be hit by a car tomorrow,” you said. You can’t let the thought of death kill you. And you were telling me these things, and I was trying so hard not to just start sobbing on the phone. I remember our freshman year in college, after the horrible way we met, of course, and how we’d go to Eddie’s bar for ice cream drinks. They were about the only things we could order while underage, so we’d spend I don’t know how many Saturday afternoons drinking Oreo shakes, or maybe peach, or mint. I remember walking home to the dorms with you one rainy Saturday after an Eddie’s excursion, and we just decided to walk in the middle of the street, jumping in as many puddles as possible. A truck even drove by, yelled that we were going to catch colds. And we just laughed. We were alive, and invincible. I remember when we met up in New Orleans, I was with Eugene, you were with Randy and Jessica, and you found out how to get to the roof of the Jackson Brewing Company building. It was the highest building near the French Quarter, and we had a fantastic view, all to ourselves. I remember our freshman year you invited me to see the Violent Femmes in concert at Foellinger Hall. You got drunk, and ended up trying to make the moves on me, knowing I had a boyfriend... I knew you had just drank too much, but I had to draw the line when you licked the side of my face. I still like to tease you with that one. You’re not supposed to die. This isn’t supposed to be happening to you. I’ve always expected to be able to visit your family after we all retire, compare photos of grandchildren. You can’t leave this hole in my life. I remember after I broke up with Bill I still tried to remain friends with him so I could periodically borrow his black convertible. So one day I did, told him I needed to get some groceries, but I picked you up instead and we put the top down even when it was sixty-five degrees and about to rain and cruised around the mecca known as Champaign, Illinois. I remember the Halloween Dance we went to. We couldn’t come up with costumes, and last minute we went to Dallas and Company costume shop and you picked up a Dick Tracy bright-yellow overcoat and hat, along with a plastic machine gun with two water cartridges. I put on a black cocktail dress, pulled up my hair, added rhinestones and a dimple and was Breathless Mahoney, but we made a point to fill the machine gun water cartridges, one with peach schnapps, one with peppermint. Someone at the dance would say, “Don’t shoot me!” And we would say in unison, “Don’t worry.” No one could understand why we were shooting at each other’s faces. I remember how every time we were going out for the evening and you’d be over waiting for me to get ready, I’d come out and ask you how I looked and you would always tell me that I looked really nice. Or sexy. Or fantastic. Or whatever. But you’d always say something to me me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t want to catalog these events, these times I’ve shared with you. I don’t want to feel as if there will never be any more memories with you. I remember how every time you guys would come over to my apartment and start drinking, you would inevitably pull out my hats, particularly the wide-brimmed straw ones, and wear them. How many pictures do I have of you with Jay, or Brian, or Brad, all in a drunken stupor wearing women’s hats? I remember how at your fraternity house, every time they’d have a party they’d have to play “Crockodile Rock” by Elton John once. And when they did, people made a ring around the dance floor (otherwise known as the living room), and your fraternity brothers would then proceed to do somersaults and other strange dances with each other. I’m glad this whole scene frightened you as much as it did me, because I remember how every time we heard the song we’d run into the basement where the kitchen was and hide until the song was over. Usually we’d find some potato chips or salad croutons to munch on, and we’d sit on the steel counter, amongst racks of generic white bread and bulk containers to tomato paste and talk. I remember taking Dan out for his twenty-first birthday, this six-foot-five animal of a roommate of ours, and how he got so drunk that when he started to get violent in the bar you suggested that he “play with Carol” in order to entice him to leaving the bar. So we carried him through the bar until he broke free and fell right in front of the bouncers at the front door, and you tried to drag him outside, and then the five of us ended up carrying him blocks home, stopping occasionally from exhaustion and setting him in the dirt. When we got him in you suggested we write all over him, but me being the voice of reason suggested we only write all over his back, so in permanent markers you and Chad and Eric and Ray and I scribbled “I am a drunk moron!” and other intelligent remarks all over him. And you, you were smart enough to be gone when he finally woke up in the morning. And you were on the phone with me saying that you just have to get used to the fact that you’re not going to grow old, have a family. That all you superiors tell you, wait till you get that promotion, and you know there is no waiting for the future, you won’t be around. People take for granted that they’re just going to be around. You never did, of course, you were the one that was always making a point to cram as much living as you could in a day, but most people aren’t like that. Most people are never as alive as you. I remember you and Sara standing on Green and Sixth waiting in line for the cash station when a cop walked up behind the two of you, and appeared to be in line. You asked, “Do you think the cop wants cash?” I remember visiting you in New Hampshire, trying to decide where to go out to eat for lobster, til I decided on the mess hall at the base. So while you were at work your mom showed me a private room in the hall, with one elaborately set table for two, with china cabinets and a couch and roaring fireplace. I reserved it, went home and put on a black velvet dress and waited for you to get home from work. When you got back, I told your brother and sister to tell you that I changed our plans and I was in the bathroom. You started banging on the bathroom door, and when I opened it you were stunned. You were wearing a uniform that looked like a gas station attendant’s, and there I was, completely dressed up for a formal dinner. Your sister took a picture of us in your hallway, you just after your shower and still in a bathrobe, and me in that dress. And after dinner we went for a stroll outside, and you were holding my hand, and I remember thinking that I wanted you to kiss me. It’s funny how we both have thought about dating each other, but never found the right time. I remember shopping with you on the East coast, going into a clothing store and watching you look for sweaters. You pulled out a pink patterned one, asked my opinion, and I shook my head no. “I’m not a pink person,” I said. You kept looking, so I pulled up a dark brown and black cardigan from the rack and held it up from a few feet away. You shook your head no and said loudly, “I’m not a black person,” loud enough for the black security guard to give you a funny look. I think I want all of my friends to die after I do. I don’t think I can handle this. You’re not supposed to leave me, I’m the one that’s supposed to make the dramatic exit. Besides, whenever I get married, you’re supposed to stand up in the wedding. If you die before then, I swear, I’ll kill you. I remember once our freshman year we were sitting in the cafeteria, I don’t remember if it was lunch or dinner, my roommate Lisa was there, and we were screwing around trying to be funny. Well, I got up and got a soft serve ice cream cone and acted like I was tripping as I got to the table, like I was going to drop the cone into your lap. Well, I didn’t, but the ice cream wasn’t securely anchored to the cone, and the next thing I know all my ice cream was right in the middle of your food. I remember visiting you in New Hampshire, and one night we just watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off over and over again. We learned half the lines to the movie that night. “I could be the walrus, and I’d still have to bum rides off of people.” “Drugs?” “No, thank you, I’m straight.” We’d always find something, a line from a movie or television show... Oh, and Heathers, we could probably recreate scenes from that movie, we’ve seen it so much. “Thank you, Ms. Fleming, you call me when the shuttle lands.” “Icklooga bullets, I’m such an idiot...” “Great paté, but I gotta motor if I’m going to make it to the funeral on time.” “Will somebody tell me why I smoke these damn things?” “‘Cause you’re an idiot.” “Oh, yeah...” God, these quotes make sense to no one else, just us, just you and me. It was like we had our own language. I remember when you came to Chicago to visit me, it was around Christmas time, and you finally saw the house I grew up in. The only thing you noticed was that all of the lamps in the house were hanging from chains. You said that some people feel like they are on death’s door with a T-cell count of four hundred, and some people can run marathons with a T-cell count of zero. You tell me yours is at eighty, and you feel fine. A little run-down, but that is to be expected. This scares me. I know I’m being selfish, I know that deep-down inside of you it has to scare you too, but you’re too strong to let it beat you. I don’t want you to feel a little run-down, I don’t want you to feel just fine. I want you to feel alive, more alive than anyone else. I want you to live forever. I remember once when you took me to an Air Force dinner dance, and afterward I went with you to a party of mostly Air Force people. There were people there I knew, and we were out really late, and by three-thirty in the morning you and Chris walked me home. And we stood out on Fourth Street and talked for a while, and before we knew it you had fallen to the ground grabbing you knee, screaming. You knew how to pop your knee back in place, and granted, from what I understand having your knee pop out is really, really painful, but watching you there almost made Chris and I laugh. After you got it back in place you were just drunk and sad and still in pain and all I kept thinking was “Oh, please, he just needs some sleep,” and I just kept thinking, “Oh, we’re right in front of my apartment, please, it’s four in the morning, let me just go to bed,” but I stayed out there with you and Chris until you were ready to get up and make the long journey home. I remember the Halloween party I held on Friday the thirteenth of October - your birthday. I put up pages from the Weekly World News about supernatural sightings, lit candles and pulled out the ouija board, then you came over, put on one of my hats, I gave you a carnation, and then we all went out for the night. I remember when you and Jay and Ellen came over to welcome Blaine to Illinois. You got really drunk, fed Ellen my pound cake that my mother gave me, then proceeded to fall asleep in my chair, sitting sideways with your head in my open window sill. And yes, I have pictures, so you can’t deny any of this. I remember going to C.O. Daniel’s with you on Friday afternoons with the other guys from the house and how we’d dress up in our Greek Sweatshirts to fit in... Well, you always fit in, that’s how you dressed, but I had to make an exception in my dress code for these weekly happy hours. And I remember how we were wallowing in our respective depression one friday afternoon, saying that nobody loves us and we’re ugly and we’ll grow up old and alone. Well, the vision I had of my future was that I would be an old maid living in an apartment with forty cats, periodically picking one up and asking “You love me, don’t you?” Well, anyway, I remember how we made a pact that if the two of us were still alone by the time we were forty, we’d get married. We made a pact. You can’t back out on me now.

Letter on Religion Thank you for writing to me about how you felt about your religion. You wanted a response - and I wanted to tell you the things I’m about to over the phone so you could actually hear my voice - I wanted you to know how honest, sincere and open I’m being in what I say. How much I believe in what I’m saying. We never seem to get the chance to discuss this, and when we are on the phone, it does seem a little difficult to say, “hey, let’s change the subject to our differing religious beliefs.” So, so you don’t think I was avoiding the questions, I’ll answer them now, point-by-point, from your previous letter. You first ask me what I think happens to us when we die. You believe one of two things happens - you’re either saved by Jesus Christ and spend eternity in heaven with God, or you spend eternity separated from God. Whoa, I think I’ve got to cover some other ground about me before I even respond to that one. Okay, here goes: I’m a very rational person by nature (you may not think so by some of the stupid things I’ve done in the past, but I’ve grown up, as have you, and I’ll get into all that later). There is no proof that a God exists - that is inherent and necessary in religion, abandoning reason and having faith that a God exists. And for every situation where a religious person refers to God’s influence, I can give at least three other possibilities that are more grounded in reason - reality - than theirs. The concept of a God doesn’t make sense to me when there are so many other, more rational, possibilities. Something has to be proven to me in order for me to believe it. Or at least be provable. Morals taught by religion and the notion of a God are not usually bad, in fact, they are often quite redeeming in society - not killing people, being monogamous, being kind to others - but those are morals, virtues, values, which by definition are not based on religion. One can learn good values, morals without a God or religion. It’s just that most people, as I see it, cannot see a consequence to being “good” unless the consequence is a God. I see consequences in doing good, for myself as well as others, and that is why I choose to be a good, kind, successful person. Okay, I think that starts to cover the basics, so now I can go back to your letter... You believe there are two possibilities for you when you die. Since I don’t believe in a God, I believe one thing happens - you die (worm food, to be rude). That I believe is the other major reason why religion and this notion of God has existed for so long - because people are afraid to face death - people really don’t want to believe that death is an end for them. Well, it is an end - for their body, for their personality - of course, their matter and energy go on to exist in new forms after their death, but when you die, you die. That’s what I believe. Your memory can last in others, you can have an effect on other people’s lives after your death, but when you die, you simply cease to exist. Then you say that you want me to be in heaven with you. Thank you, I really thought that was very sweet. If there was a heaven, I’d want to be there with you, too. If there was a heaven, I would hope that your God would look at the life I’ve lead and think I’m a good person and give me the chance to be a part of his Kingdom after my death. After I’ve seen his existence. If your God was unwilling to give me that chance, then I don’t think I’d like your God. Then you refer to sharing the joy of heaven with me, and the joy of being with the Lord. There’s another joy I experience, not related to a God, which I don’t think you realize. I’ll explain in a moment. Yes, you’ve always claimed to be a Christian, and sometimes you haven’t led a very Christ-like life. Most people are that way, and it bothers me that people claim to have beliefs but don’t live by them. They’re not really beliefs then, and all these people are lacking a belief system that they understand. The fact that you’ve decided to actually pay attention to the beliefs you claimed to have before is an admirable thing. Personally, I think you’re going in the wrong direction, because I think the structure your beliefs depend on - Christianity - is a falsehood, but at least you’ve decided to live by the beliefs you’ve claimed for so long. You write that since your decision to grow in the Lord, you haven’t felt like running away and trying to fill an emptiness in your life with alcohol or sex. That’s good - we all have to come to that point at some time in our lives in order to adhere to a value system. I think I’ve come to that point as well, but by a different means. Then you ask me: which is better, being a super-intellectual who doesn’t believe in God and has an emptiness in their life, or being the person who has Christ in their life filling that void? Wow. There are a two things I’d like to say about that last sentence. First, it’s funny how a super-intellectual doesn’t believe in God, but apparently you can’t be a super-intellectual and believe in God (well, that’s true, but I didn’t think you’d write it). Second, you forgot my category - being a super-intellectual who doesn’t believe in God and has no emptiness in their life. I fill my own void. I am whole. You see similarities between us, and you say that in my searches for the right party or the right man I was looking for Jesus. Well, in the past I suppose I was searching for something else when I was looking for the right party or the right man, but I found it. Myself. I’ve discovered that I’m an intelligent, powerful, beautiful, dedicated, driven woman who can do whatever I set my mind to. I’ve discovered that when I use the best tools I have - my mind - I can succeed in making myself happy, in accomplishing my goals. And you know, knowing that about myself, believing in my abilities as a person - gives me the drive to do what I want and need with my life, and makes me truly happy, deep-down happy. It gives me what you call joy. And it gives me even a greater joy knowing that it is my mind - my mind, my abilities, my power, not some God’s - that makes my life complete. I have complete dominion over my life. I’m the one I answer to. I can have a bad day or I can have a good day. Something wrong can happen to me or my circumstances. But I know who I am and I know what I’m capable of, and I have no regrets, and I know that I’ll make it though anything I choose to tackle. I’ll make it through what I choose to tackle, not what your God helps me through. And knowing that I’m a complete human being gives me great joy. You write that God has helped you in your dealings with AIDS. I’m sure it has - when your world doesn’t make sense, when you’re faced with your own mortality, it’s a great comfort to make sense of it all.That’s often a course of action for many people who get AIDS, when they don’t feel they are strong enough to depend on themselves. People I know in AIDS groups say that’s one of the common routes for people who find out they have AIDS. That’s one of the steps most sufferers of traumatic events go through. That’s what victim-blaming is in cases of rape - it makes no sense that a man did this to a woman, but if it is the woman’s fault, the woman could know what she did wrong - correct the actions of the woman, and the woman is safe from rape - but it’s just not true. This is what you’ve done with your God. God was your answer to all of your questions - not the right answer, in my opinion, but an answer when you could find nothing else. You say that God is using your situation to help others. No, you’re using your situation to help others. It’s that simple. You feel that your church is a place for activism. Your church rejects homosexuality. Your church doesn’t believe women are on equal footing with men. The Bible says so. Activism within the church could mean the sharing of values and morals and good beliefs, but I fear that activism within the church would mean the spread of narrow-minded ideas such as homophobia and sexism. Then you share a few verses with me. The first is John 3:16 (He gave His only son...). You then say “That’s unconditional love. God loves me and you no matter what we say or do. I think that’s wonderful.” I don’t think that’s wonderful. It makes no sense to give unconditional love. If love is unconditional, then there is no value in it. If you love something or someone whether that something or someone is good or bad, you love something or someone whether you want to or not, then it is not earned, it is not chosen, and it is not a value and it possesses no worth. Value is a standard to be judged by; worth is defined as deserving of or meriting. To me, love is a standard that people earn and therefore deserve, and that is what makes it valuable to me. BR> You say you can’t believe you lived as long as you did without believing these words. “Yes, it means you don’t get the credit for the things you’ve done, but at the same time, you realize the Lord has a hand in it,” you write. But God didn’t have a hand in it, Gods have been created by people throughout the ages to answer the unanswerable. People created rain gods when they didn’t understand the weather. People created gods for harvests when they didn’t know if they could sustain themselves, when they didn’t have the knowledge to harvest successfully. People created gods that reflected the stars and planets when they didn’t understand the universe beyond the world. People created a God to explain how the world began, how to live well, and what will happen after our lives end. All these gods reflected the image of man and earth. But they were all created. God doesn’t have a hand in what you do, you do, and you should thus take responsibility - and credit - for what you do. “Yes, bad things still happen, but you know that God will see you through them,” you write. Yes. bad things still happen, but you know that you will see you through them, you, not your God. And that brings us to the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness comes and goes. Joy is forever. I even have times that aren’t happy, but I never lose Joy or Hope. You wrote that sentence, and you wrote it about your God. I could have written that sentence, but it would have been about me. You really want me to experience the same joy you have. I think I do. And my joy comes from within. You can’t find joy from within, so you find it in your God. Then you write: “Now let’s say I’m wrong. When you die, you’re just dead and there’s nothing else. Well I’m still happy trusting in God and I won’t have lost anything.” The thing is, if there is no God, you have lost - you’ve lost your life. You’ve spent your life living for something that wasn’t real, that didn’t exist. You’ve spent your life relying on something other than yourself. You’ve spent your life under false assumptions, not to your full potential, doing what you were not meant to do as a human being. You’ve wasted your life. And to someone who doesn’t believe in a God, you’re life, this lifetime, is all you have, so you’ve lost everything. “But if I’m right, wouldn’t you like to be with me in heaven?” As I wrote before, if there was a heaven, I would hope that your God would look at the life I’ve lead and think I’m a good person and give me the chance to be a part of his Kingdom after my death. If I saw a God, if he was shown to me after I died, I think I would be on my knees praising (I mean, you’d have to respect the guy if he really did everything religion claims). If your God was unwilling to give me that chance, then I don’t think I like your God. Besides, that wouldn’t be a God that loves me unconditionally. Ñ I don’t think you’re some brainwashed right-wing preacher, as you write. I do think you have intelligence. I also think you’re scared. I think most of us, most people our own age, still feel as invincible as we did when we were too young to understand death, and none of us are really ever ready to face our own mortality. I wish I could help you with your fears. I don’t know the right words to say, but I know that the answers are within you, and you just have to look for them. I have thought about this, I wouldn’t just cast aside what you say (I think this letter is evidence to that...). But I’ve thought about this for years; you’d have to do that in order to have a cohesive value system. And I don’t think this because I think the world is cruel and evil. In fact, I think there is the opportunity for great happiness and joy in life, for great achievements, and for great minds to prosper. But for great minds to prosper, they have to follow reason. Faith may be acceptable for hunches about unimportant day-to-day events, but not with your life. You have to take your life into your own hands and make it what you want. I know you won’t read this and agree with me, I’m just hoping you understand me and not worry about me (I get the impression that you do - that you think I have a void in my life and it is only filled with depression, and that’s simply not true). As we grow up, grow old, mature and gain knowledge, we have to come up with a comprehensive value system in order to make our lives complete. I think I’ve done a pretty good job for myself; I’m sure there’s a lot more learning I have to do in my lifetime, but I think I’m on the right track. I hope you are, too.

How Do I Explain It Janet Kuypers I there are so many times when I have had so little hope & maybe that’s MY problem, not yours & maybe this is a bad way to start a poem so forgive me but the thing is, people keep trying to tell me that this is the hard part & I have been through so much haven’t I gone through enough? & I am beginning to think that well, maybe I DON’T deserve it & maybe bad things are MEANT to happen to me & how do I explain that to the average person? how do I explain what I am going through how do I explain the way I feel how do I explain it II I mean, I know I am a writer, so explaining this all should not be so hard but it is Describe the color blue to a blind man & see how you are at a loss for words How do you explain this all with quick wit & a shark tongue? III so they key here for me is that sometimes good things can happen when you least expect it & instead of my griping about it or feeling sorry for myself maybe I should just be happy with it IV & when people tell me that the sky looks REALLY blue today I just think, well, that is called SCIENCE, the sky is always blue & that answer that comment is that supposed to make me feel better? V & maybe when people tell me that every cloud has a silver lining well, maybe I should enjoy the silver lining every once in a while & when people complain that the grass is always greener on the other side well, maybe at times like those i should learn to like the view from this side because at least I get to see the green grass well, it’s just a theory cause maybe this ride ain’t so bad & maybe this SIDE ain’t so bad & maybe there is a chance for that other side for me & maybe i’ve had a taste of all that good stuff & you know, it occurred to me that the good stuff ain’t all that after all & that maybe there is someone out there like me & that maybe someone cares about me & maybe someone respects me & thinks I’m intelligent & beautiful maybe VI a couple of days ago john gave me some roses an even half dozen, something that didn’t even need to be wrapped by the florist well, that’s just my thought on the matter but john had an answer for me he told me that he gave me five roses for the five days he had known me & the sixth one well, was just for me because I deserved it & those were the words he used & that is what he said to me & I have received flowers from other men before & for all of this it was different because he said those words to me because he thought of me & that was almost worth more than the flowers maybe VII & yeah, I could go on & on & on about the fact that he is taller than me I can wear high heels in front of him & I won’t dwarf him & when he holds me it feels like I’m actually being held & not that I’m about to break the man I’m hugging into two pieces & maybe he was a marine & can hold his own & maybe he has travelled all over the place & seen different things & had different chances & yeah, maybe he carries all my stuff around in my apartment because it might be too heavy for me & yeah, I could get angry at that I could think that I can carry this myself that I’m not a poor helpless girl & that I don’t need no man VIII but for now for now I’m stuck in this happy mode remembering what it’s like where the grass is greener & enjoying in that silver lining & well, being happy that I can almost touch that green grass now ‘cause I’m sick of hearing about the four-leaf clovers & the rainbows & the pots of gold & all that other crap that is supposed to make you happy IX & maybe I am just happy that someone gave me attention & gives me attention & that that someone cares about me I got that attention from someone who thought I was worth it from someone I thought was worth it & when you finally get to this point, when you think no one else can understand this feeling & all the references to growing grass an bubbles & sunsets don’t quite cut it well, when you get to feel this way the way I feel well, how do you explain it

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