I wrote this introduction to my book. I just sent my book to an editor after four years in the making. I would love feedback. The tough feedback. Bring it on.
I know nothing. What I do know is that there is a shit-ton of music, beer, wine, cheese, churches, commercials, books, troubled souls, enlightened souls and daily barks from my Shelties.
When I was a child I knew nothing. It’s been a consistent theme in my life. I’ll take the present day Zen-like knowing nothing over the early days.
I had significant learning disabilities. I suffered food allergies. My parents thought I was inherently weird, which is partly true. My family thought I missed out on the calm gene.
I loathed school. I didn’t know how to contend with the bullies. I did not understand why I was not as smart as my classmates. My middle school placed me in advanced classes because of my last name. All of my older sisters were smarty pants. It was a giant confidence blow.
I had brutal social anxiety but I love to talk. That’s a messed up combination.
To say I’m a sensitive soul is like declaring Joseph Stalin had slight anger issues. It’s not a choice. It’s as much a part of my being as my blue eyes. If you came to visit my head I’m 98% certain you would look for the emergency exit door.
I believe my sensitivity – along with my lame lack of sensibility had a profound impact on the addiction I’ve suffered during my life.
I’m Kathy. With a K not a C. Sometimes I want to say, K or C. You pick. I don’t care. You could put an M there and I really wouldn’t care except that I am definitely not Mathy in a multiplying fractions kind of way.
I’m 53 years old. I’m a paralegal, wife, mother of three and lover of music, art, nature, laughter and food. I love much more than those things but they are top of the list.
I’ve been working a job regarding child abuse for eighteen years. Unsolicited advice: Don’t do that. It makes me think humans are a lousy species. It’s partly true. I may have a better outlook if I change my career to working at an art museum.
I live in Richmond, Virginia, an historic city with great restaurants and breweries, a beautiful river, an amazing art museum, great live music and a top notch annual world music festival called the Richmond Folk Festival. Richmond, otherwise known as RVA, rocks. Shh, don’t tell anyone. We don’t want everyone and their brother moving here.
What follows are stories – some poignant; some that everyone goes through that are told through the voice of someone who often feels like a foreigner airdropped onto the Island of Life – with no survival tools.