I was talking to Frank this morning about Charlene. I said it had made me think about the survival strategies I had as a child. One thing I did was throw my energy into things to get approval from my parents. I'd work myself to death to get a word of approval that was, alas, only a temporary fix. When I write "to death," I'm not joking. I had hours of work I did every day without being told. During one period I would become so dizzy while cleaning the stable that I had to sit down. My vision would go black and I'd get nauseous. I'd sit for a few minutes then get up and push myself for however long it took. I wound up with rheumatic fever: ill for 6 months. It took me years to get over an automatic reaction I had when something dropped, or spilled, or so forth. I'd sacrifice ME so the floor, or whatever, wouldn't bear the brunt. Like I was expendable but everything else was precious. So as whack as it sounds I had strategies to help me get what I needed -- I just needed something that made me sacrifice my physical self. I always thought I was used as a buffer between my parents, too -- as if they were sharp glass shards and I was a sponge wedged between them to keep them from damaging each other. I was cut to ribbons on both sides. Oh, well -- no one's childhood was a picnic! I have to think about these things, whether they are correct or not, but you don't have to read it.