Men, Life and Disinterest

Just finished The Secret Life of Eva Hathaway, by Janice Weber. Brownie sent it my way.

Once in awhile I'll read something so honest it leaves me raw and over exposed. Most of the time I don't believe I've had an honest moment once in my whole life. A second later I'm convinced I've never told a lie, but what is the difference between lying and omission? What if I've never actually said what I've thought? Believed? Felt?

I've been reading books by Virgina Satir. She is a therapist whose theory deals with communication in the family. My family's communication style is a lot like abstract art in that only the artist ever really understands their work. I watched my parents dance around the fact that they never loved each other. I watched my mother raise children she hated. I watched their life slip by them like a train rushes past a tree standing near the tracks.

They never did anything to save themselves. I want to save myself, I just don't know how.