In 1960’s jargon. This is such a drag….,

Like. Hello. I know. Your busy tweeting, or facebooking, or Instagram. Excuse me for the interruption. But the way me and my Mama are is such a drag. Like whatever. I mean what the hell is all this? I'm talking. She's not. And who's benefiting?
Well, hopefully someone's learning something from this situation. Like coming home is more of a challenge than I thought. I mean my reputations is non existent. My blood means nothing. Even if it is The most prized blood on the planet. To hell with that. O-negative. So what. Only everyone can take my blood.
Bit tonite as I sit on my back patio with my oldest kid, it's a drag. It's a drag when I talk to my husband and tell him how cool my Mama is and we can't even go see. It is a drag cuz my baby doesn't talk to me. It's a drag. Cuz life is being lived and we have some kind of problem moving on. It takes two to move on. Or all of us. Not just me.
And Ive told it all. So I am pretty clean. What are you holding onto? Cuz, we should be talking and planning the days to come together. Like God made a way. Let's go. Together.

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