Let’s dust off the ol’ random word generator again:

Fugitive– When I was little we were members of the Irish Cultural Society. Which- let’s talk about this. We’re mutts. Sure my grandmother is an O’Shannessy, but we’re SMALL percentages Irish (my Dad a quarter, me at most an EIGTH)- it’s odd to me that we so picked and chose to play up only certain bits of heritage. Other members of the larger family emphasize the German, even smaller percentages. I guess we all want a bigger connection, but we do it through the denying of other parts of our heritage. It’s weird.  But at 6 I had no idea about any of that- and so gladly attended Irish Cultural Society meetings. And my parents befriended a guy from Ireland named Jody at the meetings. Who my parents said told them he was IRA once. Now I, to this day, can never figure out if an IRA fugitive was smart to join an Irish Cultural Society (“I’ll hide out in plain sight!”) or if he was just rock stupid. So. Yeah. Weird, right?

Prayer– Never done it. Not even when my daughter was in the hospital over Christmas many years ago, seriously and  frighteningly sick. I never cried out for a higher power to save her, save me, save us. I never reached out even questioningly. I knew any questing for a higher being would just be the crying out of a scared child, alone in the dark, for a parental figure to make it all better. But there is no sky parent behind the veil of darkness. There was only us, doing our best out here on the mortal coil. And I was strong enough to face that. It was that experience that made me an Atheist with a capital A.

Blinking– I wear contacts because I am BLIND without them. 350/20 blind, last I checked. Can barely see the line under the big E on eye charts blind. And contacts are amazing. Truly, the change they make in my life- it’s up there in the miracle department. But that means even the most innocuous blink can be fraught with danger. I take care with my blinking. And eye rubbing. And swimming. Because blindness… it’s only a blink away.

Dancer– I am an AWFUL dancer. I have no sense of rhythm at all. It’s a problem. I actually think that comes from growing up with a Dad who was a musician and lead vocalist in his band. I grew up listening to his words in songs- it’s still how I listen to music. And yet other people listen to baselines in music, or the music as a whole, turns out. It’s hard to dance to the words, I guess. Or maybe it’s because I never had a Dad to teach me to dance, because he was always the one on stage? Maybe a little of that to. But I try. Also, Dancer was the name of the miniature poodle I had when I was a kid. First example of “I’m a big dog person” turns out- because she and I never much cared for each other. The little shit.