Finding One's Tongue. Again.

Swallowing one's pride can sometimes make the world a better place to live in. I've taken after my dad in many things, one of which is the possession of a massive ego, which, if slighted, can move me to stop speaking to the offender.

Childish. I know. But somewhere in me the eternal idealist still strives, despising the people who turn out to be contrary to her ideals. Immature. Yeah, yeah. However, there is still hope for, I have found, I'm growing up! I resumed speaking to one such person today and we more or less picked up where we didn't leave off; which is probably a good thing because that had been a pretty bad scene. At least I don't have to desperately wish her into thin air every time I see her now.

I wonder what will come of my dad who sometimes refuses to even speak to his own children and has stopped speaking to most of his family, anyway. 58 seems like a pretty grown-up age, you know.