It is a little odd that the two most famous people in my family are the world's greatest free solo rock climber and the most famed Injun killer of all time.
And here am I. I married a native American. I paid for my grandfather's sins. That was almost a lifetime ago, it seems, but after being thoroughly evicerated by the vultures I was given my freedom back. What I didn't realize was that freedom cost a buck oh five plus tax.
One thing kept me going while I was figuring out how to get out of the mistake I had made, and that was the possibility that once I was finished pouring everything I had into the never ending cauldron of neediness, was the thought that I might be able to find someone who would build me back up again.
It never happened.
I pretty much dove into insanity headfirst, most of you got to witness it, and now all we have left is a crazy, hateful, POS that I never thought I would be...but I am. I am angry not at you guys, you don't owe me anything. I am angry with myself. And now I have a mild form of Tourrette's Syndrome, which makes me a liability in just about every social situation I am faced with.
But even crazy people can write. Maybe that is what my job here is to do? I don't know. I can't Google it.
Why did I misspell General Custer's name?
Caus. Tards.
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