Why do memories return to us? Like a spectre from a Victorian Gothic novel, they stalk us and then prey upon us until we are left naught but a shell of ourselves. Try as we might, there is no talisman to stop thier relentless attacks on our psyche. We struggle to be heroic, but in the end fail as we are left to ourselves and our own devices. The poet said, "'Tis better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all." I preceive this as shabby consolation for a wounded soul. Will we ever be free of these tormenting spirits, or are we doomed as Jacob Marley's spirit to wander in torment for the rest of our days amongst happier souls? OH, Spirits!! Torment me no longer and be banished forever to the blackness from whence you came!
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ladywook:
how are you getting on at your new job, hun?
ladywook:
i know, call centers suck. i have worked in 3 different ones, and no doubt i am headed to one in the near future. at least it gives you something different to think about...and you can now bitch about your job to all the unemployed folk 