The Taste of Blood

I am still thinking about the Paskowitz family I wrote about yesterday. All eleven of them living in a camper van. They quarreled, but ultimately they got along because they had to get along.

I live in a small town, and exist within a close family unit, both which feel like enclosed camper vans sometimes. I need to learn from the Paskowitzes. I need to learn to put differences aside for the sake of community and kin.

This is not an easy task! I guess I need to get used to the taste of blood in my mouth, from continually having to bite my tongue.