What is it with me? Why do people want to pour out their hearts to me?
It happened again this morning.
She's from Germany, lived in California, father was with CHIP (Highway Patrol), very abusive to wife and her, his daughter. They left. Mother loves a man in uniform, married a retired Navy guy, who now has leukemia, which is why she is still here in Idaho--a place she's not particularly fond of--and not in Germany.
There's much more, and I could put it here. But you don't want to read it, may have stopped reading already.
Not that I mind altogether. Sometimes, though, life must go on. I mean, my life.
I have read that all anyone has to do is give a stranger an opening, and here will come the deluge.
What, exactly, is an opening?
With me it's that I have ears. Maybe I look at the person. That must be it. Before I know it, my ears are being filled with that person's life story. Not that they're not interesting.
This morning, trust me, I didn't ask, but I did listen.
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