rambling rosemarie

I haven't written in quite some time and I have missed it. Writing is therapeutic for me. It's a chance to give voice to the random inner monologue that swirls around in my head. Writing is safe. Safer than sitting down with a live body and having a chat at any rate. There's generally instant feedback and vulnerability when in person communication occurs. Yuck.  I have anxiety at the very thought. Relationships that matter scare me silly.  I can hold my own in conversation but to actually share the oddities that make me the woman that I am seems far too risky. If you really knew what craziness resides in me, you'd run for the hills. Well, maybe not run but you'd likely wonder if I had a few kinks in my slinky. I am good-natured about some of my quirks, even though they have been exploited by friends and family as a source of amusement.  Take my inability to drink the entire contents of a glass.  I used to drive my mother crazy because I would have an inch of milk ...