Most important email of my life

 

Two emails to my mother

Well this is actually the second most important.  The first one was one that I accidentally dumped when email was still new and not so finely crafted, and I was welcoming the ‘rents home from Europe after their trip there following after a dinner in Texas to honor the Nobel Laureate   blip blip blip for anonymity  My father was the keynote speaker.  Everything failed after that.

But it all, I am FINALLY beginning to accept, passes through God’s hands.  So now, these two emails, and maybe we can all pick up the pieces and move on.

 

 

1–“Post Victorian Judith”

 

I am sending this from where your liberation from petty British propriety finally put me, the smoke shack here at (blip).  It was the sexual abuse by my brother that drove me to “choose” to smoke when i was a young girl, and it was sealed in blood when my Harlem roommate at Kent took me on a walk behind the dormitory my first day there for a smoke.  The sexual “abuse” was our overflowing mixed up sexuality from being encouraged to touch ourselves and explore our sexuality, being put in the same bed, and bath, caution thrown to rhe winds.   Naturally when dad finally joined the game, unable to control himself in this licentious atmosphere, it was my smoking that showed the hit: I made a pact with John K. that night to kill myself by smoking nyself to death.   After leaving Kent I found myself helplessly smoking 3 packs a day, it was terrifying.  My therapist has you pegged.  Maybe you could try erring on the side if caution in these last times of your life, to correct the balance a little. Your refraining from hurtful, careless laughter in the face of wholesome American proprietors would be gratefully aporeciated and would so welcomely reflect sanity and understanding.I am sending this from where your liberation from petty British propriety finally put me, the smoke shack at (blip.)  It was the sexual abuse by my brother that drove me to “choose” to smoke when i was a young girl, and it was sealed in blood when my Harlem roommate at Kent took me on a walk behind the dormitory my first day there for a smoke.  The sexual “abuse” was our overflowing mixed up sexuality from being encouraged to touch ourselves and explore our sexuality, being put in the same bed, and bath, caution thrown to rhe winds.   Naturally when dad finally joined the game, unable to control himself in this licentious atmosphere, it was my smoking that showed the hit: I made a pact with John K.that night to kill myself by smoking nyself to death.   After leaving Kent I found myself helplessly smoking 3 packs a day, it was terrifying.  My therapist has you pegged.  Maybe you could try erring on the side if caution in these last times of your life, to correct the balance a little. Your refraining from hurtful, careless laughter in the face of wholesome American proprietors would be gratefully aporeciated and would so welcomely reflect sanity and understanding.

 

2–“Ocean of tears”

 

I found Jesus here a few weeks ago.  Living is believing.

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