My 24-piece nail art polishes arrived yesterday, so after Tom and I go for a bike ride, I will do some colorful creations on my nails. 

I’m sending Paula a couple of bottles of other nail polish which I only used once and didn’t really care for. I think she’ll like them, but it’s ok if she doesn’t and wants to give them away or something. I just hate to throw things away. 

She’ll be 48 on the 30th. 

The weather’s still in that “stuck in-between” stage. It’s not winter anymore, but it’s not quite summer yet. It’s nice in the afternoons, but cold in the mornings. 

Later… 

Dear Mom, 

Not that I’m sure I believe in the afterlife or any kind of heaven or hell (I don’t know that for sure either way) but this is just to inform you that I treat everybody the same. And I do it without feeling a shred of shame or guilt. What that means is that I would not tolerate or forgive the abuse of a family member any more than I would a friend or lover. That includes you. You abused me for many years in almost every way imaginable. I cannot and will not ever forgive or forget that. 

Carrying me for nine months and then giving birth to me is not an automatic “ok” pass to be excused for abusiveness. It does not grant you the right to abuse me as you did and it does not make you worthy of being forgiven by me either. I have too much respect for myself to be blinded by biology. Biology is not an excuse or a ticket to be abusive simply because your own mother abused you and set a shitty example for you. By the time you were an adult, you should’ve been smart enough to know right from wrong no matter what kind of example was set for you. I have no pity for you. I have no respect for you. You were a hypocritical little shit filled with nothing but condemnation, judgment, jealousy, phoniness, selfishness and insensitivity, though you sure thought you were superior to everyone else, didn’t you? 

You once told me that if I didn’t like somebody, then don’t have anything to do with them. This was probably the only good advice you ever gave me, and this is why you didn’t have me in your life for a good decade or so. See, I don’t waste time with revenge and stooping to anyone’s lowlife levels that I may come to dislike; I simply ignore them and disappear from their lives. Poof. Gone. History. Just like that. 

Until you got too old and senile, you put me down every chance you got. You treated me like dog shit. You made me feel stupid as hell. I may not be perfect, a genius or rich, but let’s see YOU come back to life and write 29 books, get anywhere from knowledgeable to fluent in 8 languages, and then call ME dumb again. Oh, and don’t forget to taunt me about my weight again, too. 

Let’s see you raise a hand to me so I can break your arm in a million more places than mine broke when I threw myself out a window mostly thanks to you. You had the guts to hit me as a small child but once I grew up you were nothing but a gutless piece of shit, weren’t you? 

Get over you and rise above you… I definitely have. Forgive you… No chance in hell. So if you’re out there, Dureen June, I hope the afterlife has been anything but kind to you and that you are suffering every single minute and that every single minute is like an eternity and then some. May you rot in hell and suffer a million times worse than any amount of suffering you ever inflicted upon me. That is my so-called Mother’s Day gift to you.