Anyone frequenting this blog knows how my memory is. Or maybe how it isn't. So I needed to document this for the sake of posterity. Ok, maybe not for the future generations. That is a bit much. This is just for me, so I don't forget. So there's this tradition in my family of not believing anything I say. This is understandable as I spent a majority of my young childhood lying, although I'm not sure why. I think mostly to keep from getting in trouble, and the end result was usually Jonathan getting punished for something I did. (I'm sorry, Jonathan.) I just remember my mom calling me a "habitual liar" pretty regularly. My mom didn't cuss, so it was confusing to my young mind why she was calling me a "bitch liar." Anyway, I guess my mom got used to my childhood lying and so she never believed me when I told her various things growing up. No one believed me when I said I was going to run away. And then I was gone one morning. My mother didn...