Monday, October 8, 2018

Beginning of Autobiography

Here is the beginning. I'm not sure when I'll go back to this again.
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I'm really an old homespun kind of girl, but I became kinda wild and crazy for a lot of years (some people would say I'm still crazy) mostly because of my cloistered upbringing and the fact that I was a PK. For those who don't know that term, a PK is a preacher's kid. We invariably (my favorite word is invariably) don't want to set a good example for everybody just because we are a PK. Those who know me or are getting to know me will have picked up both of those two qualities in me. Hey you guys, doesn't that really turn you on? I thought it would. Whoops, there goes my flirty side.

Perhaps (I like that so much better than "maybe." People may think it sounds too artsy-fartsy or something, but I don't care.) So perhaps the main reason I have been depressed all these years is that I could never have a baby. I seemed to know somehow that I never would, even from my teens, when every girl starts to think about it, and some of those young girls do, against their will or not, begin to have babies.

When I finally die, these will be my last words: I can't believe I'm dying. There's so much more to do! Lately I'm like the White Rabbit, always rushing around to get something, do something, get anything done.
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