TO THE LADIES

I have had an extremely rough, depressing time lately. I haven't been able to focuse on things that need to get done. I will admit that I have stopped caring about what I do, how I look, my college work, how clean the house is, and everything else in general. The things that are keeping me going are Cassidy and Jessie, God bless them, and thinking of springs arrival so that I may get outside more and spend it with my girls, ride my horse, and spend a lot of time in my neighbors horse barn with some of his young horses.

Late last night, after sobbing and venting to a good friend on the phone, she came over with the movie Mr. Woodcock and a poem. She stayed a lot later than she had to, but she was here and I was greatful for that. The poem I love in an odd, creepy way.

Sunday, after the Daytona 500, my brother wants to take me out to eat at either The Ranch or The View, and afterwards he wants to take me to the casino so we can play Little Green Men for a while and talk. I am looking forward to it. It will be nice to talk to my brother about a lot of things that are effecting me lately. I have always been close to Mike and I tell him a lot of things that I cannot tell anyone else. I am hoping it will help get a lot of things out of the way and make me feel better.

To The Ladies

by Mary, Lady Chudleigh

Wife and servant are the same,

But only differ in the name:

For when that fatal knot is tied,

Which nothing, nothing can divide,

When she the word Obey has said,

And man by law supreme has made,

Then all that's kind is laid aside,

And nothing left but state and pride.

Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,

And all his innate rigor shows:

Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,

Will the nuptial contract break.

Like mutes, she signs alone must make,

And never any freedom take,

But still be governed by a nod,

And fear her husband as her god:

Him still must serve, him still obey,

And nothing act, and nothing say,

But what her haughty lord thinks fit,

Who, with the power, has all the wit.

The shun, oh! shun that wretched state,

And all the fawning flatterers hate.

Value yourselves, and men despise:

You must be proud, if you'll be wise.