To be fair to my Mother, no one in my family reads anything I write. So, this shouldn't just be about her. I've sent stories to family and get no feedback, or no acknowledgement really. I think this must happen to writers a lot. But, it doesn't make it feel any better.

Mom has found the Facebook account of Corey, the man who stole from us, continued to trespass here, being an unwanted person as the police called it, and set fires around our house. Corey who returned to steal even more months later, after he was out of jail for breaking a peace bond with the police. Corey who caused over $600 in damages to the garage he lit on fire next to the home we live in. Corey who I stayed up all night in case he came back to set more fires. What a pillar of the community, that Corey.

Corey is a brilliant writer. Mom is enjoying reading his posts on Facebook. Photos he has had taken lately while he recovers in hospital from being hit by a car or something... I don't care enough to have paid attention. Corey, the man who I have phoned the police to remove from our property at least three times. Etc, etc etc.

Mom has been asking me to read brilliant Corey's posts. Over and over this morning since she found them. She went looking for them, and found them, and read them.

She hasn't read mine. Not here. She says the link doesn't work. Not the newsletter which I emailed to her, the full contents of the newsletter in the email. She said it looked good. She didn't read it. None of the sites I have written for online since about 1998 when I began writing for other networks/ sites online. Not stories, poems, fiction or non-fiction which I wrote any time in my life - none that I can remember. Did she ever read something and just not mention it, or have I forgotten an event when she did read something... possibly. It would be nice to think so.

I got some kind of emotional listening to her go on about how I must read Corey's posts. How much I would like them, how Corey writes about so many interesting things.... On and on and on.... I don't know what the emotions I felt were. The longer she went on the more emotion I felt. But, I kept it to myself. When I didn't want to listen any more I did say something about how she doesn't read anything of mine. I left then. No point in saying more. Not worth it. She went outside to her garden and I'm here.

She made an effort to read Corey's posts. She had to find him on another Facebook account, the young man downstairs had/ has him as a friend. She spent time scrolling through Corey's feed, at least an hour I would guess. It takes time to read.

I think she wanted to know that Corey is ok after being hit by a car, or whatever it was. Corey is after all, quite a guy! Mom still talks about him. Months after he did all he has done, and is likely to continue doing. Why not? Police... oh what's the point of writing about all of that again.

I'm not going to send her any more links to anything I write. Am I bitter? Possibly, maybe disappointed but not surprised. Not really surprised at all. I'm sad, I'm letting myself feel that much. Mostly I'm blocking everything I feel out. What does it matter? What is the point of having emotions or caring? Who cares, not even me in the end.

It's amazing the different kinds of people there are in the world. I've found some will attack kindness and praise the deranged, sympathize and understand them. Putting themselves in danger, but its ok because there are those faithful kind souls who will make things better, or at least, ok again. The clueless, if I can think of a better word I'll change it, wander through life and people as if nothing will hurt them, no matter how far they go.

I don't understand it, any of it. But, I'm clueless too I guess. I think people should be good, to each other, to the planet and all life on it. Up until they (a person) act mad and destroy life, as if it has no importance at all. I just think that's wrong. But, there are enough people in my life who make me question all of that. Am I foolish? Am I too moral? Am I setting myself up as a never ending victim for all those people who are more than willing to take everything I have?

The clueless are so blindly certain about everything, it makes me doubt myself. Are you confused? Well, then we both are.

After years of feeling there was something drastically wrong with me, I began to see a different sort of person. People who do not attack or blame others for everything. Everything, almost literally. Bad weather should be beyond most human control and yet... they can make you feel responsible somehow. With so many years of training it just takes one sigh, the repeating of a few words in just that way. I am to blame, I'm hopeless, when will I ever get it right?...

So there I am, among the clueless, always at fault, always the one to somehow fix things, and always clueless myself to understand how all of this works.

There are two sides to an issue. The words used to debate one can be turned and used to debate the other.

Something I thought about today.

Writing is an art with good spelling.

Did anyone else ever say it? It doesn't seem likely that its just me. But, so far, it is.

I first used this as my subheader/ tag line for the Canadian Spelling blog. I still have the domain but the site isn't up.