Irony

Irony

When a former classmate is shown in the suggestion box on Facebook and you think to yourself, "Ew, I do NOT like that person!"

Meanwhile...

The same former classmate sees your picture in the suggestion box on Facebook and thinks, "Ew, I do NOT like her!"

...

Actually, that really did happen. At least in terms of my seeing a former classmate in the suggestion box on Facebook, thinking "ewwwww!" and wondering if she was likewise thinking the same about me. Though I certainly think I've just cause of going, "ewwww!" considering how much time she spent making my life miserable back in school.

It was the sixth grade, hardly the first or the last year of school misery for me, but it was an amazingly difficult year that certainly stands out. I was having a hard time getting used to the parental divorce, a remarriage and subsequent impending move. All of which was followed by a bout of the lowest of low self-esteem and nothing I did, or wore, said, read, ate, whatever, seemed right in my classmates' eyes.

Flashback: I very distinctly remember standing at the lockers and this boy turning to me to say, "Do you ever wear anything without an animal on it?" While I thought how much his head resembled a Cabbage Patch Doll's head.

Looking back it's little wonder this girl found it necessary to make my life miserable, her life was in absolute shambles. At least, according to school rumor, and let's face it, school rumors are about as trustworthy as The Enquirer. Unfortunately, the more miserable I was made to feel by not just her but many, the more I went completely against typical character and struck out. Enough so that I did a flurry of injustices about the school. (If anyone was wondering who locked all the girls' bathroom stalls back in sixth grade one day, that was me. Excuse me while I chuckle on that one.) Unfortunately, I took this occasion to find my own poor soul on which to exact my fury over the injustices that I couldn't control in my life. A timid, dark-haired new girl. Oh, I was terrible as I unleashed a furiously unfair brigade of meanness upon her. Again, completely against my nature. It wasn't like me to be mean to anyone. Except for kids who had the nerve to pick on my younger brother. Oh, I made those kids pay!

I dont' recall everything I did to this poor girl, though the last straw for her was my sticking a sign to her back. I don't remember what it said but I felt very smug and satisfied to have elicited positive attention from the other kids. My typical tormentors.

Of course, my stomach dropped to my kneecaps when my shenanigans were reported to the teacher. Which led to my being taken out to the hall. Two of us were taken out to the hall if I remember correctly. I don't even remember who the other person was, maybe it was my own antagonist? Whatever, or whichever the case, the teacher reprimanded us thoroughly and I was so ashamed.

Then the teacher said something very odd. I can't get the words quite right, after all, it's been twenty-[INCOHERENT MUMBLING] years, but it was a statement directed to me, about how if I went to a new school I'd more than likely be fine in a new environment. That I was a survivor. While my accomplice wouldn't be so fortunate. In other words, my teacher had a pretty good idea of what I'd already been through and while I didn't find myself so particularly strong, she did, and that I was better than my antagonizers.

I carried that statement with me for years. Whenever a situation became exceptionally painful I'd flash back to that moment in the school hallway. But, like all things, how it was said, what precisely was said has long since been lost in my notoriously and horrendously poor memory. It gets jumbled up with other memories, such as how everyone picked on me for the pink high-top shoes I wore to school one day. And I loved those things but never wore them again after that... or how I was made fun of for how I drunk a can of Pepsi. It was my first, as a matter of fact, and some other girl had serious issues with how I was drinking it.

Such silly little nuances, injustices and childish pettiness that so made up my school years.

Wasn't I supposed to be busy learning?

Oh well, if I'd a time machine I'd probably spend all my time running people over with it. (*Points!) It doesn't really matter now, though I really wish I could tell that girl I picked on back in sixth grade, (I think it was sixth grade, anyway.) that I'm sorry... I'd hate to think of my photo popping up on Facebook friend suggestions and her thinking all kinds of horrendous things about me.

Which leads me to wonder if my former classmate antagonist in the Facebook suggestion box thinks the same thing? That she's sorry for picking on me.

...

Hmmmm, not sure I want that answered, she still looks mean.

HA!

*running people over for points!

Always learning things the hard way

I went to Grandma's grave today, it seemed the right thing to do after a horrendous night of no-sleep. I wanted to take flowers but the thought and the very task of simply driving by an area flower shop elicited a fountain of tears. After palming away the waterworks I made a deal with myself that I'd do the flower-thing next time. Thus saving an unassuming flower shop owner a world of awkwardness. (You know, I think I preferred the 11-year tear drought. This is getting ridiculous and saying it's my allergies only goes so far.)

With the girls at school I stopped for coffee at McD's drive-thru, not caring how crazy I must have looked with red-raw eyes, before driving the 20 or so minutes to the cemetery. The weather very fitting for the occasion. Wet, heavy clouds with sporadic showcases of sunlight. There's a growing chill in the air, something fully expected a month ago here in Ohio, but it's only now starting to get cold. Course, my internal heater is in overdrive as of late so the chill feels wonderful! I've not even bothered with a coat half the time.

Grandma's grave was pretty easy to find as the grass has yet to grow over the dirt. Funny, the same feelings that I've had since the day she died almost a month ago are still very raw. That whole business of it feeling wrong. That it's not possible Grandma has died. I've tried, with some degree of results, to convince myself that Mom is right. Grandma didn't suffer. I tell myself that it was good she hadn't languished for years and years at the home. To the point where she ended up completely bedridden and her mind gone.

...

The cemetery does not have tombstones but plaques, (Which probably isn't right, plagues, but all I can come up with at the moment.) so the land seems especially barren, with a few trees and statues dotting the landscape. It stands outside of town so the wind comes rolling across the fields across the road. As it did as I stepped out of the car, having parked in the general area we'd parked for the graveside service. It was quiet, as cemeteries always are, and I was relieved to not be struck by the revulsion I typically have for our Americanized way of parting with the dead. I won't go into great details but I find our methods completely wrong. It's ashes to ashes, dust to dust... and I'll stop there. I've already a plethora of people riled up over various things I've written.

I'll behave....

As I said, Grandma's graveside was easy to find; right there beside Grandpa. Mom and I had been at the cemetery earlier in the fall to decorate Grandpa's plague. Had we only known... I'd noted the newness of his death date tag, 2001, then and I noted it today. Along with Grandma's glaring and oh-so-wrong death tag of 2009 amongst a flurry of tears I quickly brushed away. (So aggravated with myself over my quick tears it's beyond words. )

Then I walked. I had worn my running shoes and walked for the next 20 minutes through the area. Enjoying the peace, a little sad that there weren't tombstones to admire, but marveling over a few decorations left by others. Such as the tiny Christmas tree tucked into a plague's flower holders at one graveside. Another had a flurry of flowers that spoke of a recent burial. Especially surprising were a few trees near burials decorated with Cardinals, whirligigs and chimes. I was intrigued, something I never would have thought to do. Obviously the caretakers had not been bothered by the few mementos dotting the trees or else hadn't gotten around to removing them. Some appeared to have been hanging from branches for quite some time.

I silently hoped the little Christmas tree would make it through to December 25th.

It's funny, I almost didn't walk the cemetery. Thinking to myself how exposed and yet how isolated I was, alone, nobody knew I was there. Then I laughed, scolded myself and said out loud, "Screw it." If someone had the audacity to mess with me at that moment they were going to be in for a terribly rude awakening.

I walked and tried to find comfort that Grandma's passing was quick... but it still doesn't seem right. The pain has just been unbelievable, and with it something very raw and new has emerged within me. (That's for another day, still trying to figure it out.) It's also brought along with it a whole host of new worries about whether or not I've been of enough comfort to those, both past and present, in my life when they've been suffering. One such worry goes back to when my ex's grandparents died, not long after we started dating. It makes my throat raw with worry over whether or not I was there for him. He'd been exceptionally close to his paternal grandparents and the thought that my immaturity and lack of empathy due to having not lost anyone close to me surely made me a poor shoulder to cry on. So to speak. I know many would say that hardly matters, considering what he did to you, but it does, it does matter. But like a lot of things, I can't remember.

Then there was Michael's grandfather dying...

Certainly, this loss has given me a whole new appreciation for the pain of death that others have suffered, while I've stood silently by with barely a word or understanding. I never meant anything cruel in not understanding, I was simply blind and stupid.

Hmmm... seems I'm always learning things the hard way.

Tuck 'n roll, dear!!!

Cars make a funny noise when you throw them into park before stopping. I was THAT tired this morning while dropping Brianne off at school. I went to bed at a solid hour last night but then spent hoooouuuuurrrrsss reading, because I couldn't fall asleep. I finally plucked the third Twilight book from our bookshelves out of boredom. I am not a big fan of the Twilight series but have to say with each book things improve. The second book was much better than the first and the third is proving to be even better than the second. I can't quite put my finger on exactly why the improvement but I'm a little more than halfway through after only two days so that's a good sign. Just the fact I picked the book up after where it's been was alone a miracle.

I made a half-hearted attempt, just now, to find the old post about the hub taking reading material into the bathroom. Thus ruining my option of reading the item for eternity. Or, at least until I break out a can of whoop-that-bug's-bum Lysol spray. But couldn't find the post. Time goes by so fast, doesn't it?

I was up until sometime after midnight, reading. Awoken from an unbelievably deep and wonderful sleep by Trin's crate pacing that signals she wants out. Out now, mom! And the hubster sleeps like the dead. (We've discussed this before, how I could be snuffed from my side of the bed while he snored away.)

I got up with barely a blink of an eye, actually felt pretty good, got the coffee brewing but failed to pour a cup before walking out the door. Very sour morning with rain and some fog but it's so unbelievably mild for November here in Ohio that I'm not about to complain. Though I wore my winter coat and a sock hat I wasn't the least bit chilled. Starting the car for warm-up was completely unnecessary but I did anyway. It was an excuse to be outside, along with getting trash to the curb.

Yet, between the house and driving to school I became unbelievably tired... I threw the car into park by the school entrance. Foot still on the gas, though the car was barely moving. My poor ol' Neon sputtered and made a wicked crunching noise as it came to an immediate stop. I glanced down to the gears with a perplexed frown. Only then realizing what I'd done, wondering if I'd just destroyed the car.

Brianne screeched from the backseat, "What did you do to the car, mommy?"

"Did you break the car?"

"That sounded AWFUL!"

Yeesh, gimme a break, kid, I was tired! Slumped into the steering wheel, the corner of my eyes still plastered with sleep crud. I'd been yawning for blocks, far more than I should have been, and may have just broke the car. Yet Brianne carried on with an avalanche of accusations over my sudden poor driving. Which only led to my thinking of my mother's driving, which led me to think of Grandma, which then led to my thinking of this:

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Don't suppose it be against etiquette, amongst other things, to shove kids out the car door for school with a cheery yell of, "Tuck 'n roll, dears!!!" would it?

Some posts you win, others are best chalked up as a loss

Well, I did it. I bought my first pair of running shoes today while they were on sale. I want to say I've scored but can only droop my shoulders, hang my head, chew on my nails, and elicit a tremulous, I'm scared, amongst a nervous chuckle.

Am I crazy???

Yes! Completely! Because not only am I completely and terribly out of shape but the thought of running has been so heavy on my mind for months that it's become consuming.

The first obvious degree of my craziness was an answer I gave to my mother, about a month ago, after she asked what big-ticket item I wanted for Christmas. Which was surprising and caught me off guard, but none-the-less, I immediately answered with, treadmill!

"I want a treadmill."

Which led to the second, obviously much needed, step of buying running shoes. Helped along by a plethora of friends posting their daily/weekly running tallies on Facebook. Which never fails to elicit an immediate drool response, worthy of Pavlov dogs, from yours truly. I've always wanted to run but never had the strength. Even when in the best of shape and an avid bike rider, I hadn't the stamina or muscle to run. (Lord, what am I thinking now, when in the worse shape of my life?)

But now... I don't know specifically why, but I. Must. Run. I've been dreaming about it. I'll be doing something mundane, such as folding laundry and clear as day the thought will come, run!

Obviously, the need to run goes far beyond the physical. The unbelievable desire to push my body over the edge, be unrelenting, if not down right brutal, so as to wipe my mind of all doubt and self-hate, to create a balance of self-esteem and strength, to run away from whatever, has become a primary function.

Have I finally lost it?

No, no, like the previous post, don't answer that... probably one of those things best left to the unknown, even as I read and reread a dozen times the above paragraphs only to finally give up in disgust.

Some posts you win, others are best chalked up as a loss.


Anyway...

However you may interpret this bold plunge of having purchased a pair of running shoes, please, by all means, wish me loads of luck. I'm really, really.... really going to need it. Along with tons of faith, courage and discipline. Not only because I'm in horrid shape but also it's November and I live in Ohio. (What am I thinking? Why couldn't this have taken hold last spring for crying out loud???)

Oh, and while you're sending me all those positive vibes, a couple dozen tubes of Ben-Gay sent my way would be good, too. Cause I'm gonna need that more than anything.

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Courtesy of an email received today. Thank you!