I wish that I did not know that cannibis is a natural aprodesiac for women, especially, and good lord; Do not go and get yourself busted for trying to buy some.  Sadly, it leaves you with a headache in the morning.  At 63, you know that people are lying about this sex thing in to your nineties, and what is worse; Now and then you feel like waking your husband, in my case, or someone elses husband after you just had a dream that you were much younger.  No, you morons, our parts do not grow back together;  we have fewer of them.  Can we all join Jimmy Carter and just be truthful that we have lust in our hearts, or we still remember lustful moments.  I think these are called, "Lust in Retrospectives."

What more do you want to know about me?  I do not remember how I got to heavy, but I do not worry about it so much now.  Do I really want to look like a stick with eyes and a fading dye job?  All five of my children are very smart, but my husband is one of those Mensa types.  They wanted him to join, but he declined.  All three boys have astonishingly high IQs;  all in 140s to one, when put on a graft to correct for his dyslexia is at 178.  My girls were born a month early as twins when I was 38, and I was loosing my life -- bleeding, and one child was paralyzed on her left side until she was 9 months old;  She got up and walked.

When I get interested in something, I have no discipline; I have to learn everything about it.  I have a memory for things people do not even know that they  said going back to early childhood.  I still love a man I met in Washington, D.C. before I got married, and he probably forgot me five years after parting.  I have realized many years to late that one man I knew who I med when in college at MTSU was one big fake, who would live a life as a fake, thought he was such a peach of an atheist, and bragged about his sexual conquests, as I looked on, thought he was beautiful, and kept in touch after he married an atheist British girl.  Honestly sweethearts, they were made for each other, for they were a mutul admiration society for each other, and even after 20 years; they boasted of their perfection.  Now they are both older than I am;  I do not know where they are, but it took me 40 years to know that this guy was a usurious jerk, and I am almost ashamed that I admired him to the point of looking him up years later.  They visited us in Cincinnati.  I am certain we bought his dinner when he would come to San Francisco, and I could look at him and my heart would skip beats.  They were the kind who always told you what they were reading now, and it would be so much fun to tell them;  "Well, I am reading a whole lot of Xanga these days."

Everyone should end their confessions with a zinger; Mine is a no brainer;  If my book, "Pinkhoneysuckle," got picked up as a movie; then I think I would invite every Xanga friend who encouraged me to a catered evening at my place in San Francisco, or would meeting up at Haystack Pizza and having pitchers of beer do the trick?