Guilt.

I have guilt.

About lots of things, whether they happened once or are a recurring event in my life.

Like how I told Patricia in transitional-first grade (shut up) that she could eat my strawberries and then told on her for eating all of my strawberries. And she cried, and cried.

And how everyday I pass the Spare Change Newspaper guy and don't buy a newspaper.

Or how once a week I would bolt after grad class so I wouldn't have to take the T with anyone from my summer class I had nothing to talk about with. And then I would ask myself why I don't have friends.

I feel really guilty that JR fell asleep before dinner, and is passed out right now, so I just pigged out on his frosted flakes and have totally spoiled my dinner and am praying he sleeps for like 3 more hours til I'm hungry again so he won't find out.

I never wash fruit.

Everyday I pass the lady begging for money on crutches with a disease eating away at her legs that you can actually see, I want to give her money. But don't.

And I should put change in the guitar case of all of musicians who play at the Davis Square T stop at morning rush hour. Also don't.

I have tons of guilt surrounding my entire freshmen year at Uconn. We'll just leave it at that.

Anytime my mom asked me to bake something, the finished product would always be less than what she thought should be there. She always knew it was because I ate so much batter, but I still denied it every time. Sorry I lied, mummy.

I have eaten candy out of Adam's easter basket without him knowing for like, 18 consecutive years now. But if he doesnt know by now that he needs to hide his peeps and cadberry eggs than that's just his own damn fault.

I feel awful about all the times I've snuck one more slice of pie/cake/anything I wasn't supposed to. Well less awful and more fat.

I still feel guilty that when I was 3-4 years old and had twin babysitters - Sandra and Brenda- I was asked if I could tell them apart. I replied, yes, and I could tell because "B"renda was "B"igger. I think only Sandra babysat for us after that.

I cheated on a boyfriend once. I don't really feel that guilty about it, but it's probably better to say that I do.


I'd like to now provide a safe place for you to admit one thing you feel guilty about. You'll feel better, I promise. Tonight I'm heading home to an empty house where I'll be shamelessly attacking a leftover trifle, and I'll be doing it almost guilt-free. It's a good day.