I am guilty of marring the rope. Every time I free my serious side, the world on top turns my eye of joy into brass tight war.
Dad crosses the line. Mother few can brush.
Haste is too unhappy. Bread is never won. The grades kill us.
Family is never type A but if ghosts ruin Jacob, can he build a bread that heaven allows? I never faced so kany days with mom or dad; the mention of suggested grip to meet heapth is vacated by accusations. Mother even went so far to yell I should have murdered the breast by beastial desires. The rudeness of children born near holocaust times wages the most hated soul.
I want to honor my living. No one but the orthodox I see maybe once a week speak. Just me or has heaven a fraud?
During the galus period things are difficult for the Jews, but we pray that the messiah should come soon and things will get much, much better.