Come on, just look at me. Tell me I’m not Kramer.

I’ve been waiting for what I see coming since the day I walked the grounds of the Dachau concentration camp memorial near Munich.  That was the worst day of my life.  It’s the day I became an adult.  It’s the day I witnessed pure evil for the first time.  I knew evil existed and caught glimpses, but I was in denial.  I didn’t believe humans were capable of pure evil.  It was the day I discovered lying to myself was futile.  My innocence died painfully as I processed my surroundings.

I decided I will do what I know to be right, no matter the cost to myself.   I made my choice, and I’ll uphold it for life.  I possess the discipline, character, and wit necessary to wield a deadly sword in the real war.  I learned from the mistakes of our ancestors.  Some of them are still living in Bavaria.  They were my neighbors.  They were no different than you or I.  They were not evil.  For almost all of them, their horrible crime was choosing their life over their honor.  I’m not that audacious.  I’ll make the right choice.

For me, it’s easy.  I’d rather die a slow painful death than live a slow painful life.  I’m impatient.  I have no tolerance for human suffering.  If I’m afraid, I want to go first.  I’m a protector.  I don’t think it was ever a conscious decision on my part.  Birth order, perhaps.  That inane sense was magnified by my service.  Being an adult increases it even more.  I probably should have spent more of my childhood socializing, and less reading and writing code.  But here we are.

I’ve always been impressionable.  I copy what I see others doing and saying sometimes.  (I hear it’s an aspie thing)  My older siblings considered me a form of entertainment.  When teenagers, they would enlist me to repeat things that should never come out of the mouth of a sweet little six-year-old girl, (knowing I wasn’t comprehending a word of it.) I’m only irked I wasn’t old enough to realize why I was hilarious.  However, I did enjoy watching them fall apart laughing.  Especially the few times I caught my mom laughing, too.

I’m just putting that out there before I mention it said, “Tell your mom I said thanks,” in the memo line on the check I wrote to the guy who hauled away my excess junk.  We’ve been exchanging smart ass comments via text a few times a day since he noticed.  He walks the very fine line between hysterically funny and offensive.  I love that quality in a person, probably because I’m addicted to belly laughing.  It’s the ab workout I’m okay with.

I wrote a love letter to Microsoft for the Surface Pro 4 in a feedback form earlier.  I write as many sappy compliments to companies as I write complaint letters.  I know.  I’m a dork.  It started out as an assignment from my mom to persuade me to work on my atrocious handwriting.  It backfired because I found our typewriter, and I’ve been writing them since.  My mom got me to maintain a balance between compliments and complaints, at least.  My handwriting sucks even more, though.

Usually, I write my compliments to Amazon and Dell.  I’m a bit surprised they haven’t gotten restraining orders, I love them so much.  Hy-Vee is another company I gush over.  They’re the trifecta of my consumerism.  They earned my loyalty with excellence.  I’m a cheerleader for awesome.

The ACLU contacted me, and I’ve been invited to my state capital to defend LGBT, immigrants, refugees, women, and people of all faiths during the upcoming legislative session.  The last time I was there was with my high school debate club.  I won the extemp category because the judge didn’t know black people could talk intelligently.  I know!!!  I put the plaque under the rear tire of the bus before we left.

My debate partner was a low talker.  It made it hard not to giggle whenever it was her turn, and that was before I saw Seinfeld.  I ordered some dressier boots to wear in Pierre.  I usually dress like Howard Wolowitz with a kicks fetish, but I know how to look professional.  I could always wear my Army dress uniform.  Olive green polyester is eternally fashionable, right?  I’m off to read.

Depression Monster The Struggle

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