*click*

Hi, you've reached Zippy. Guess what? I'm not here right now! Ha, sucker.

But if you leave your name and number, I may get back to you. The chances of my doing so rise in direct proportion to the likelihood of you giving me chocolate.

Ben, if it's you, no, you can't borrow any money, stop asking. Rachel, call your brother if you need something.

*BEEP*

Didn't light a menorah this year. Not feeling it.

Dear Rachel,

I'm writing to apologize. What I did, what I said-- you didn't deserve that. I lost my temper because of other things going on and I took it out on you. That's not acceptable, and I apologize.

I've wanted to apologize for the last three weeks. I'm hoping you'll read this at least, since you're refusing to talk to me on the phone the times I've tried to call

No. Crap. Zippy grimaces at the words she's just written, then taps delete-delete-delete.

I'm hoping that in a letter I can say things to you better than I seem to face-to-face. I know that losing my temper doesn't excuse what I said, doesn't make it okay. It's just that I was feeling pretty damn ganged-up on and then you said what you did and

Argh. No. Zippy puts her forehead into her hand and rubs at her temples. This isn't going well. At least with the letter she can delete this shit before she actually says it out loud.

She erases the last sentence before getting to her feet and heading into the kitchen for another cup of tea. Limp back, not for the computer desk, but the couch, settle herself down on it and close her eyes against the pain.

Her knee's still protesting the winter. There's Tylenol but she's too stubborn. And anyway it's in the bathroom. And anyway anyway it won't do anything for that dull tight chest-pain, the heart-pain that actually is located more in the gut.

It's snowing outside and the snow muffles all the city's noises. No honk and hum of traffic to interrupt the silence in the apartment. The cats are sleeping by the radiator and there is no Ben, there is no Rachel.

She raises her teacup, to sip with a humorless grimace. How many times she's wanted a little peace and quiet from Rachel's bitching? Who knew it was so easy to get-- just destroy your relationship with your daughter with a few stupid words, and there you go.

Zippy stares at the snow that falls past the window, falls and falls and falls, covering the city, covering all sins and all secrets.

My daughter Rachel, she would write, to be read by nobody. My hard-won child. Miriam should have been your first name, not your middle; Miriam-- my bitterness, rebellious blood. Too much like me in all the wrong ways. And yet when you were born I almost called you Atarah. My crown. My victory.

I should have known the battle to bring you into the world was only a taste of things to come.

( Read more... )



ooc- probably only a few weeks after this... just took me... er... 1.5 years to write? oops

Pondering what to wear to the seasonal library party thing. ( Read more... )

Ha ha, just what the world needed.

'Hava Merry Christas'. *snort* Oy!

What do you have faith in?

The 'creepily accurate' color quiz.

Zippy took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Seeks success and independence. Is willing to ove..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

I don't know if it's that accurate. It can't even keep my gender straight throughout. It's wrong about other stuff, too.

( color quiz )

Okay, now I'll go be depressed for a while.

This was in my inbox from Ben today, subject line: "It's you, Mom."

Obviously he must be disowned. Little brat.

Nu. How are you all today?

http://www.thenonist.com/index.php/thenonist/permalink/hot_library_smut/

.....travel. That's what I'm missing out on.

Who wants to send me to the Hague? Or Dublin?