Tuesday, August 14, 2012
half of what i say is meaningless
There are perfect seasons in my life. Friends are friends and my job is just a job and neighbors across our quaint street are not dying alone in their homes. The music has the best beat and good lyrics, the tea tastes like the first cup of tea, fever blisters exist but never on me and my goddamned apartment isn't as confining as I remembered from, I don't know, let's say, 2 months ago.
You know what I'm talking about, right? Like, perfect. Of course you do. Those seasons when time moves exactly as it should (whatever that means for you). And then, like any bi-polar person will tell you, there are those other times.
In ninth grade I cut my hair super, duper short. Pixie. The boy I liked called me a "lesbian" every single day in 7th period. But that's okay, wanna know why? I was cooler than where I was. I'm serious. Nirvana, The Beatles, Violent Femmes and Tom Petty cds frequented my little boom box, I made beaded necklaces and wore mismatched earrings. I survived my best friend's death and the death of my parent's marriage and 2 school moves within 2 years. I bailed hay and maintained a cool composure when faced with social conundrums. And I was smart.
Third and Fourth grade were weird years for me. I was becoming aware of my caste, so to speak. I mean, "caste" is probably too harsh for the social stratification that occurs in rural towns, but I was realizing how poor I was, how uneasy it was to have an alcoholic dad and a desperate mom. It's fine, though. I had a bird book given to me by my great grandmother who taught me how to play cards, Scrabble and forced me to only have one iced oatmeal cookie every time I visited. She didn't play Old Maid the sissy way, either. She was straight streets - none of this "letting the kids win" bullshit. She had the flattest chest due to a mastectomy and a raw, but ladylike attitude (due to the depression). And because of her, now and then, I can point out a Belted Kingfisher, Red-Winged Blackbird, Great Blue Heron - tell you what they eat, where they live, how they sound. I can also remember where I was when I become cognizant of the existence of these beautiful creatures individually.
This kind of bullshit is a mix, huh? Bad and good. So, perfection can visit; I'll allow it, even welcome it. But, let me always be aware of proportions.