and hanging on me. my son likes sweets and they say it s because of me. i keep getting fatter so i hang it on all of them. i don t do all my chores because give me a break, i have an illness. i wish people wouldn t pity me because give me a break, i have an illness. it can t win. then again, i can t lose, can i? not when i think of an excuse for every task that failed me. i have a built in excuse. call it mess i inherited. the gift that keeps giving. the father too tough, mom too soft, teachers too clueless, the unprecedented mess i went through to create the unprecedented mess i am now. we live in a weird world, my friends. where it s much easier to point a finger than simply look in the mirror. the trouble the image in the mirror stays. for me, the slightly rotund figure stays back, too. reminding me, as if i needed it that i am the sum of my mixed up parts.