March 23, 2017
Well folks, I promised you research and that is what I have been up to for the past week. I wish, in a way, that I could unlearn a few things…………..but I believe I was divinely led to what He needed me to know. I am sick to my stomach, in a state of grief-paranoid to the point that the sight of a man in the grocery store parking lot sent me into a near dead faint. What did he do? He was getting in his car, only I didn’t see him at first. Jesus Christmas, will I ever be the same?
I’ve decided that the only way that I can move forward is by having a strong sense of humor, a satirical view of the New Age Movement, the Illuminati, (the word gives me heart palpitations) and pedophiles in Hollyweird. My brother, a talented artist who is a household name around these parts (Philadelphia area), has always wondered why he didn’t make it “bigger” in the music business. After watching a multitude of various artists who are said to be in this secret, satanic society, I am praising God that he didn’t…..it’s all so sad.
I have decided that I know all that I need to at this point. I am a strong, Irish, Christian woman-but I am very impressionable and let’s face it, the truth shall set you free-but it sure can make you crazy. Bat shit crazy lives here, no need to stir the hornet’s nest. And speaking of bees that sting, my in-laws are now even more afraid of me than ever. Backstory: as a recovering alcoholic it has become clear to me that I scared the bejeepers out of them on a weekly, if not daily basis. They saw me drive my jeep through our garage door in broad daylight. I once sat on my windowsill naked, again-broad daylight people-and screamed “I don’t give a fuck what the neighbors think!!!!!!!!!!!” Well, our neighbors just happen to be my in-laws and they were entertaining people from their church. Grimace. Yeah, they have reasons to avoid me.
So, although I love them dearly, I can pretty much tell you that the last thing they wanted to hear was my battle with the demon cat who died and came back to life three, count em, three times. They don’t know that the second time my husband had grabbed the poor thing, who was laying, dead as a doornail, next to our bathroom toilet. He took him outside to be buried. I heard a gunshot. Why? I asked him.
“Apparently the cat had one more life in him. I put him out of his misery.”
Exactly. No stress here. So they were less than pleased when I cried and told them of the spiritual warfare that had happened up the road, in my very bedroom. They said not one word. No one wants to talk about it. I had to laugh when I saw them hiding behind their truck earlier today. And as I returned to my kitchen I saw one of them run for the mail box. Poor Tom and Dolly~