I am pleased to serve the President of the United States.

Somedays I wished that I lived in the series of the West Wing. Although they have their problems, they always seem to be so well educated and well spoken that they can fight for their solutions. That being said, I will go on with what I want to talk about.

Oh, being at my parents brings up so many ambitions, problems, emotions, solutions. They live in a house they are going to move out of in a year. There is no real sentimental value to their current home for me and I can't even find words to create reasons to ask them to stay in one spot. The only homes that have had any sentimental value, which I guess is the point, are the two that I grew up in: the "Avondale House" and my yellow apartment with green plants. Although right now, my peace lily is a little too yellow and I am making a decision to move the mum outside and get either a spider plant or an impatient. I have been in the past day in a half of being at my parents house, competeing with a fifteen year old, when know one knows I feel competitive. She is almost like me, but different. She asks all the right questions to my Dad. I have never been able to do that because all that he has made within me that I am really pretty good at doing to this day, I rebel against. Always have and don't know why. The comment was made over dinner by the waitress, "Are you sweet or unsweet?" I smiled and said, "Sweet." Although she was referring to my tea, my Mom was not, "well she's not really sweet, but we will let her be today." This is how I am known in my family. The mean little girl who shows an undoubtedly outward appearance, specifically to public which entails: friends of the family, extended family, school and church, as a completly lovable, sweet person with a kind heart who wants to help everyone, in contrast to what happens when I get around Mom, Dad and Carter, which is I hate you written across my forehead and speaks loudly through out my actions. I don't really hate them. When I was a little girl and couldn't express myself, I didn't hate them either. I hated and still have a tendency on my bad days, hate myself and I can't figure out why they love me, even if they don't like me. You see, I have never seen myself as lovable. I don't know why or what caused it, it just happened. It is a separator. It separates me from God and equally important it separates me from those who love me like they love God. I don't think that I can let anyone love me until I learn most importantly to love myself through God's eyes. I won't be able to do it any other way. I definitely like myself more than I did four years ago, but sometimes I shred apart into a thousand pieces when a fifteen year old girl comes along who is exactly like what I want to be and am not there yet. I can hear what my spriritual advisor would say right now: you are comparing your insides to her outsides. And how right she may be it doesn't seem to change my jealousy or anger. Those are things that only God can take. For all I know that girl could grow up to be an axe murderer, but I doubt it. She is just the daughter that I want to be or at least my perception of her is that she is that person. Hopefully, through the work that I continue to do by prayer, correcting behavior, writing and talking to someone who knows me and staying sober most imminentely, I will be able to be the daughter who really is sweet and not just for a day.