Distractions

I love them... distractions. They are really so good for me. I have a midterm tomorrow. My son comes home next week.

So in the meantime I will be babysitting a lovely girl for the weekend, and for tonight I give you a poem. It's not mine really... a friend of mine on the old Livejournal.com linked to this person, and that's where the poem format came from.

Here's mine:

I am from microwave dinners, kraft and welfare.

I am from the the beach...wet, angry, sand between your toes.

I am from the waves, the orchids.

I am from alcoholism and those who can't reach, from richards and anns and nichols.

I am from the neurotic and forgiving. From "you're not good enough" and "follow your dreams."

I am from the Catholic, fallen, forgotten. From sinners and a lack of faith.

I'm from nowhere particular, fish and cocaine.

From uncle Jason logging in Alaska, aunt Donna throwing out my "slutty" clothes, and aunt Jackie covering for trips to the abortion clinic.

I am from the bottom of a black chest full of old shoes and an army flag, from old shoe boxes in the backs of closets from Michigan to Portland, and hidden away in drawers full of SOS tapes and newspaper clippings that no one wants to remember, but no one can forget.



So where are you from...?