If your mother had a scar on her nose, what child wouldn’t think that one day he would make that scar vanish? I blame myself that my mom’s scar didn’t vanish.
Don’t blame yourself.
I blame myself that I couldn’t make her hair blonder.
Don’t blame yourself.
That I couldn’t make her happier.
You loved your mother.
I blame myself that they don’t call kids children any more.
What could you have done?
I blame myself for not feeling compassion for ticks and fleas.
Good for you.
That I have spent my life demanding that people blame themselves for their misfortunes.
You’ve made exceptions.
Very few.
Include yourself among the few. And you belong included, believe you me.
I blame myself for finally doing it. Every penny.
It’s not over yet.
I blame myself that great loves are like empires. When the idea they are based on crumbles they too fade away.
You’re so right.
I blame myself for not going whaling more often.
You can’t do everything. Don’t blame yourself.
I blame myself for not being opaque more often.
That is not true.
I blame myself for every leaky faucet, every rigged election, every shanked two- iron.
Don’t do this to yourself. It’s not too late.
I blame myself for not having all the money in the world.
Where did you make your countless millions, dear?
Do you think future generations will.. . . ?
Of course they will. Every one of them.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I just don’t know. You know what I mean?
Of course I do, dear.


About judyjablow123

In my youth I was a world class tournament golfer. I earned an MA in history at NYU, after which I knew I had had enough of academia. I have remained a student of history. I have a strongly personal - almost entirely negative- take on the contemporary pharmaceutical and mental health industries. That was the impetus for my Bluepolar blog, which will also include stuff on sports, history and anything else that strikes my interest.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Humor. Bookmark the permalink.

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