the "social worker" i started seeing when i thought i'd get in trouble for a letter that i wrote, we've been meeting off and on for six years now. a couple of years ago, i wrote a letter to some restaurant where the vaginas who worked as waitresses were taking much too long to bring out food. my letter was forwarded to the police department and they called the social worker and forwarded a copy of the letter, i met with both my social worker and the police.

when i was meeting just with brent, the social worker, he was smiling proudly and he just seemed overwhelmed and uttered the word "twisted". i can hear his audible whisper now: "twisted". wow, what a compliment. i was an avid reader of stephen king books as a child.

i wrote my mother a letter in which my mind was going "all over the place," to take the name of an old bangles album. she called me a bastard because i said that i get more encouragement from brent than i get from her...actually, i said "support," and so she called me a bastard and brought up everything she did when i was comatose or in the rehab hospital. i said, "how do you support me NOW". she never answered.

twisted. that is really a badge of honor. i know my mom had been talking to my sister, i'd be so much more honored if my mom was just repeating my sister's words. "twisted". my sister is a california liberal, a democrat...and if it was originally her word then i'd be so honored.

people call me "twisted," i think of the lyric by stone temple pilots that goes "you can't swallow what i'm thinking". i hear nanny fine's voice: "i can't even PROCESS that, it was so mean".

it is moments like this that get me to write more. my social worker says that i should be published.

check out my site, , unless you're there now