To My Mother,
<< 9:36 p.m. - Sunday, May. 11, 2003 >>
You just don�t get it do you? I don�t like shopping. And no matter how many times you shove me into American Eagle, I won�t have fun. I don�t like driving around in the car with you. And I don�t want to read inside on a sunny day with you. Your very presence is toxic to me. Later, when I don�t have to live in the same house as you, I know we�ll get along. Or we�ll just become what your own mother and yourself are like. Distant and cranky.

Maybe I disagree with everything you say because that�s just what teenage daughters do, but jesus, you�re making me crazy. I know you won�t believe this, what I�m writing, and say I�m overdramatic and looking only at the negative. Perhaps I am. But when you tell me of your life, it�s not so sunny either. Your own mother throwing a pan at your head. You haven�t done that. But stop saying these things that are supposed to better my character. I will never wear makeup on a daily basis. I will always have gray socks that were originally white. I will always lose expensive things. These are laws that I cannot or wish to change.

Stop being this overweight martyr. I am not the thing that holds you back. My words are only as cruel as yours. I�m not the reason you haven�t done anything in your life. Your words have a much deeper impact than you think.

And while I write this, I can�t help but to think how I love you. Don�t forget that.

Kelsi

Dad told me, �Keep a hold of your dreams Kelsi, you can�t imagine how fast they die.�