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letting go I went over to see this seamstress today, to have the fucking Bridesmaids' dress altered. I say "the fucking Bridesmaids' dress" because of an earlier thing with my mom about it...if anyone reads this or cares, I wrote about it a few entries ago. When I picked out the dress, I actually was surprised because I thought I looked pretty in it. But my mom has ruined that for me by her reaction to it...therefore, "the fucking Bridesmaids' dress". Anyway, this woman, the seamstress, was so nice...she lives next door to the house where I grew up, and she was like, "You have grown up into such a beautiful girl" and told me how nice I looked in the dress. I barely know this woman, and she is saying things that I think my mom should be saying. It's funny, I didn't think of this when I started writing this entry, but my colleague and friend Victoria and I were just talking the other day about how you have to let some things go...and how we have learned to let go a bit as we have gotten older. Victoria was telling a great story about some swami she saw on tv, and he was saying that in India they catch monkeys in traps by putting out these sticky fruits that monkeys like, but between bars...and that the monkeys will reach for the sticky fruits, and close their fists around the fruit, and the monkeys will not let go of the sticky fruit, even though it ends up with them being caught and captured. If the monkey would open its' hand, it would be free. It's all about letting go. I used to hang onto anger and stuff more than I do now. But I guess I still need to learn about letting go, when it comes to my mom. Miss These?
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