Last night, there was some turbulence in our house, for lack of a better word. The impetus was food (and actually not my cooking, surprisingly). Things were said, and I eventually got so mad that I left. Drove away. After first telling my kid that I loved her and kissing her good bye. Up until I was a senior in high school, my parents almost never fought. From the time I was born (or from the time I could actually start remembering things) until I was in my mid teens, I recall only three fights my parents had. They seemed pretty bad at that time, and I still remember a few details from each, but the other thousands upon thousands of days of my life, my parents were pretty happy together. We had a really great family life. Unfortunately, things started to go a little south my senior year in high school before getting worse my freshman year of college. I actually don't remember things being as bad my sophomore year, but that was the last year my parents were together, so... Why a...
The various, and usually long-winded, thoughts that swim around my head.