I think I have a problem with people worrying about me. My automatic response to concern is to become angry and wonder why people don’t trust me to be okay.
This might make learning to drive more difficult. Yes, I don’t have my license yet. In college I didn’t need it, and then that summer I decided I would finally get around to it, I found out I had to have brain surgery.
So my driving lessons have been a little delayed.
Anyhow, here’s a short scene of life at my house, as presented in a conversation between an aunt and her niece:
Aunt: “Have you talked to Bob recently?”
Niece: “Which Bob?”
Aunt: “You know more than one Bob?”
Niece: “Yes. There is more than one Bob in this world and if I people named Bob don’t want to be my friend, or talk to me, or recognize my existence anymore, because they are too busy with their own little lives to care about mine, then I don’t care and I don’t need any people named Bob in my life!”
Aunt: “So does this mean there’s another Bob?”
The crazy conversations in my house between my brother, mother, and cousin prevent me from finding some way to combine this post more neatly together in some meaningful way, so there it is.