G-R-O-U-N-D-E-D.

Grounded, verb. Definition: imprisoned in one’s own home with no way of communication to the outside world; sentence for wrongdoing.   Used in a sentence: Madison behaved like a horrible, snippety teenager and henceforth, she was grounded…  I do believe I’m going to publish my own dictionary.  I’ll give old Webster a run for his money.  And then when I’ve sold a million kajillion copies, I’ll be a billionaire and travel the world and buy things for no reason at all.  Just kidding.  If I were a billionaire, I’d feed the hungry, donate to bunches of charities, build homes for homeless people…. And then I’d be right back where I started.  Broke.  It always seems like your heart’s bigger than your wallet, amiright?  I suppose I deserve to be grounded… I haven’t been a very nice person lately.  (And hey, if I were my mom, I wouldn’t put up with me either.)  Haha I probably need to be on lockdown until I’m forty.  I know if my kids are half as crazy as me, that’s where they’ll be!  On a lighter note, I’m sure EVERYONE is aware that the tigers devoured the bulldogs… and now it’s over.  So STOP GRIPING AND BRAGGING.  It’s annoying.  There will be other football games.  A lot of other football games!  Don’t get your knickers in a twist.  (Between you and me, that always sounded really unpleasant… -_-)  Right now, I’m in accounting. (Stop! I know what you’re thinking!)  *insert defensive voice here* I get my work done fast!  Haha.  Remember when we talked about forgetting?  Apparently you CAN contract selective amnesia.  I think I’m doing a pretty dang good job, considering the circumstances.  You know, it’s always harder to forget than forgive.   Give me five minutes and I’m all, “You’re forgiven, blah blah blah…”  But like they (quick question: who is this ever-elusive “they”?)  say, trust is like a piece of paper.  Once you crumple that piece of paper up, it’ll never be perfect again.  Some of my friends don’t even care.  Ha they burned that piece of paper a long time ago. After shredding it and feeding it to a goat.  (Goats eat paper, right?)  But, I digress.  Moral of the story: There’s a fine line between turning the other cheek so much you get whiplash, and being a forgiving person…. Mother always said I liked to dance on lines.  Bad girl signing off.   Love y’all.