I had to randomly draw three cards (depicting a sense) and create a story around them.
Isn't it funny how the most random things can define your day? A purple lollipop. I used to love going to the bank with my mom because I would get a lollipop from the bank teller. That made it a good day. Not today. Today a purple lollipop is absolute proof that it's a rotten day. Why? Well, this lollipop was unwrapped and melting on the hot sidewalk. My shoe landed squarely in the sticky mess making me walk out of said shoe and tripping. No, tripping is much more graceful than what I did. Imagine you have spent months preparing for a meeting. A meeting that could change your entire life. You wake up that day nervous, but ready. You've had your outfit picked out for months. You have a folder professionally put together for each attendee. Your power suit is pressed and ready. Your power point is prepared and your presentation can be done in your sleep. You are a half an hour earlier than reasonably early because you don't want to leave anything to chance. And then less than twenty feet from the door you step on the lollipop, your shoe sticks, your foot catches and your perfect folder go flying from your arms onto to the steps leading up to the front doors of the building. Because steps don't catch folders so gracefully they commence to tumble back down. Their journey not only obliterates the perfect order you invested so much care into, but it also sends some tumbling over your now prone body, adding insult to injury. Your coffee spills not only on the closest folders, but on you. So, no, not tripping. Something much much worse. What's the word for that?
So, the world being the loving, gentle place that it is, I had nothing to worry about, right? My white knight was just around the corner ready to gently help me to my feet, inspect any cuts and bruises, put the folders back together and reassure me that things were not nearly as bad as I feared. Wrong. No, as I attempted to get into a sitting position and inspected my now sprained ankle, the closest thing that I got to acknowledgment was someone commenting on not so trim figure. I think he offered to give me directions to the Jenny Craig Center.
I was embarrassed about falling. And now, thanks to Mr. Chivalry I was embarrassed about my weight. I was horrified about my presentation. How many folders were salvageable? What would I do about my ruined outfit? How will I get up those stairs on a sprained ankle? But then, ah, the sound of Marcie's feet. Have you noticed that in certain circumstances you can recognize someone just by the sound of their walking? Marcie always wears high heels so it's kind of a click, clack, click, clack. But something about her walk is almost musical. Or maybe it's just because there is something about her that makes things better so I associate the sound of her approach to be something uplifting. Whatever the case, I know that although a purple lollipop can derail my plans, it has not yet seen the force that is Marcie. My day is about to get back on track. Everything will be okay.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Devin
Matt slaps Devin on the shoulder, "That was a good one, man!"
Devin humbly shrugs. He learned from a young age that comedy worked for him. If his mom was upset he could usually get her to crack a smile with a corny knock knock joke. When he was old enough to go to school he found if he was embarrassed in class over a bad grade he could be laughed at for a much more fun reason. And just now, he was able to deflect attention when Matt started to ask too many questions about something that he had no desire to talk about. "Yeah, heard a version of that on Kimmel last night. Thought you'd appreciate that little twist."
The problem with this little talent of his was that it was getting him exactly where he didn't want to go. Okay, maybe not exactly, but he wanted different for himself. You see, the reason his mom was usually upset, the reason he couldn't concentrate at home, the thing he didn't want to talk about with his friends...that was his dad. The Inspector General. Yeah, not the most warm fuzzy encouraging guy on the planet. Sure, he gets respect. He has a good job, provides well for his family. Devin has no idea if his dad has friends or what he's like to work with, but he does know that the man is absolutely no fun to live with. Nothing is good enough. Ever.
As a kid Devin just wanted to make his Mom happy. Thus the jokes. But as he got older he found it a handy tool to hide from his problems. Now, staring across the parking lot at the problem he's spent his lifetime trying to escape he starts to wonder...
Devin waves to his friend as he jogs off toward his father, "Gotta go, catchya later."
When he climbs into the passenger seat he decides it's time for an experiment, "Hey, Dad! How was your day?"
The Inspector does a double take. You see, you don't talk like that to him. It's supposed to be, "Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Right away, Sir." As a sensitive child it really didn't take any effort to get him to comply with his dad's wishes. Just the slightest glare would usually whip him into shape. High School Psych class doesn't get too in depth, but it's given him just enough information about avoidance to get him to wonder.
"Watch your manners, boy." His dad fidgets with his phone to call his secretary. He spends the entire ride home making demands.
Even more interesting was that he barely looked at Devin at dinner. He didn't speak to his son and when Devin's mom tried to engage him in conversation his father spoke over her, making sure Devin didn't get to speak.
All of his life Devin wanted to be like his dad, if for no other reason than to earn his approval. His dad was the picture of strength. He wanted that kind of respect when he was out in the real world. But now he wondered if his dad was happy. And even more, he wondered if he was on a similar path. Were the rules and the strictness and busyness just a front for some insecurity? Devin was scared that his comedy was a front too. He felt like he was pushing his friends away. Like no one really knew him anymore. If he kept at it, was did his future hold?
Devin humbly shrugs. He learned from a young age that comedy worked for him. If his mom was upset he could usually get her to crack a smile with a corny knock knock joke. When he was old enough to go to school he found if he was embarrassed in class over a bad grade he could be laughed at for a much more fun reason. And just now, he was able to deflect attention when Matt started to ask too many questions about something that he had no desire to talk about. "Yeah, heard a version of that on Kimmel last night. Thought you'd appreciate that little twist."
The problem with this little talent of his was that it was getting him exactly where he didn't want to go. Okay, maybe not exactly, but he wanted different for himself. You see, the reason his mom was usually upset, the reason he couldn't concentrate at home, the thing he didn't want to talk about with his friends...that was his dad. The Inspector General. Yeah, not the most warm fuzzy encouraging guy on the planet. Sure, he gets respect. He has a good job, provides well for his family. Devin has no idea if his dad has friends or what he's like to work with, but he does know that the man is absolutely no fun to live with. Nothing is good enough. Ever.
As a kid Devin just wanted to make his Mom happy. Thus the jokes. But as he got older he found it a handy tool to hide from his problems. Now, staring across the parking lot at the problem he's spent his lifetime trying to escape he starts to wonder...
Devin waves to his friend as he jogs off toward his father, "Gotta go, catchya later."
When he climbs into the passenger seat he decides it's time for an experiment, "Hey, Dad! How was your day?"
The Inspector does a double take. You see, you don't talk like that to him. It's supposed to be, "Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Right away, Sir." As a sensitive child it really didn't take any effort to get him to comply with his dad's wishes. Just the slightest glare would usually whip him into shape. High School Psych class doesn't get too in depth, but it's given him just enough information about avoidance to get him to wonder.
"Watch your manners, boy." His dad fidgets with his phone to call his secretary. He spends the entire ride home making demands.
Even more interesting was that he barely looked at Devin at dinner. He didn't speak to his son and when Devin's mom tried to engage him in conversation his father spoke over her, making sure Devin didn't get to speak.
All of his life Devin wanted to be like his dad, if for no other reason than to earn his approval. His dad was the picture of strength. He wanted that kind of respect when he was out in the real world. But now he wondered if his dad was happy. And even more, he wondered if he was on a similar path. Were the rules and the strictness and busyness just a front for some insecurity? Devin was scared that his comedy was a front too. He felt like he was pushing his friends away. Like no one really knew him anymore. If he kept at it, was did his future hold?
Monday, May 16, 2016
Lying
My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it runs in the family. I curled further into the arm chair feeling defeated. Is this it? Is this my life? My future? It felt very hypocritical to judge them. I was here because I was grounded for lying to Mom. Which brings me to the fact that it was very hypocritical of her to punish me for lying when she lied to her boss to get the day off. It was a vicious circle, one that I wanted to get out of. But it's just too easy. It's something I do without thinking. From a young age I learned how to walk, I was potty trained, and I learned how to lie to get what I wanted. However, sitting here watching at my grandparents fight, and knowing that was probably the best case scenario for my future if I didn't make some changes in my life soon, I decided that I was going to find another way.
On the way home we had to stop by my dad's office. He was running late, as usual, and Mom needed- I'm not sure what she needed, probably just to check up on him. His excuses were getting flimsier to the point it seemed better just not to ask anymore. She dropped me a Dudley off at the front door so we could run ahead while she found a parking spot. Dudley is my younger brother. That's not his real name. I use to tease him that he was a dud, which turned into Dudley. I actually use it kind of affectionately now. No, I'm not lying. He and I get along pretty well. We try to entertain each other when Mom and Dad are fighting to keep our minds off of what's going on in the other room.
We're both kind of quiet when we go through the lobby and ride the elevators up to Dad's floor. Mom popping in on Dad does not sound like a good idea and I think we are both preparing ourselves for an inevitable fight. I wish I had my license and was able to drive Dudley and myself far far away from this. As the elevator dings and the doors open Dudley elbows me and I see a glint in his eye. He's declared himself a ladies man at the ripe old age of fourteen. The way his eyes are set on a group of women gossiping around the office copier makes me laugh, and then groan. "Go get 'em, Tiger." Why not? He's harmless and he will no doubt brighten their day. Even though he's my brother I can admit he's funny.
I head on to Dad's office. Maybe if I can give him a heads up then we can avoid a fight, or at least minimize it. As I get to his office door I see him with a woman who is very much NOT my mom. She's beautiful and way to close to my dad. She's giggling and he's holding one of her hands in both of his. He then plays with a tennis bracelet and tells her it looks beautiful on her. I feel sick. I'm too stunned to move or think. I don't want to see this, but I can't move. I can't speak. I don't know whether to scream or cry. I do, however, need to remind myself to breathe.
The sound of my brother's laughter breaks me out of it. "Dad, stop!" I don't know if I yelled it or whispered it, but he and his...whoever she is...jump as if I'd screamed it. They are both startled and start mumbling excuses. I didn't hear them, I was just glad they had separated before Dudley saw them so close.
I sensed my mother's presence more than anything else. She rushed past me into the office. I hadn't moved from the spot where I froze by the door. She went straight to the woman and lifted the wrist with the bracelet on it. Mom didn't say a word. She looked at my dad and her expression said everything. The woman stammered out an excuse about finding in the back of her car. Even I knew that was bologna.
Mom then looked at me. "What were they doing when you came in here? You caught them doing something, didn't you?"
Okay, I know I decided not to lie anymore not more than two hours ago, but I was pretty sure admitting what I saw was going to have life changing ramifications. I didn't want to be responsible for that. As much as I like to make the case to my parents that I'm not a kid anymore, in this instance I want to play the "I'm just a kid" card. Rather than lie I grab Dudley by the arm. "Let's give them a minute," I say as I lead him away. Okay, so not admitting anything is technically a lie of omission, but come on! Too heavy to fast. My venture into the world of truth needs shouldn't contain such a steep slope.
Fortunately I was never pressed for an answer as to what I witnessed in my dad's office. Unfortunately, the result was the same. My parents were getting a divorce. Over the next weeks and months I looked at things with new eyes. Every time I noticed a lie I played the what if game. What if they told the truth? I'm pretty sure my grandparents would be happier and argue less. I'm not sure about my parents. I figure either they would have avoided their problems becoming so bad or their marriage would have ended sooner. I started wondering about my friends. Sure, if they told the truth they would get into trouble, but if they made a commitment to truth they wouldn't do the things that got them in trouble. So that got me to thinking. What used to be a game of getting away with things has changed for me. Not wanting to end up like my parents and grandparents meant not trying to get away with things. That meant not doing a lot of things I used to do. Which made me a whole lot less fun to be with according to my friends.
They were all the same, I decided. My friends, my parents, my grandparents. Yes, they were at different stages of their lives, but the attitude was the same. That the world owed them something and that they needed to lie and cheat in order to get it. They were bitter and unhappy and didn't trust anyone. Not even each other. That's not the kind of life I want. It made me think of the moldy orange that I pulled out of the refrigerator for a snack last night. I was looking forward to a refreshing, juicy, healthy, sweet snack. That's what I wanted out of life. I want it to be refreshing, something to look forward to. Juicy, eventful, intriguing. Healthy, physical health, sure, but also a life that's going in the right direction. A life that leads somewhere that I want to go. And sweet. Something that I will look back on and smile. But instead I got a moldy piece of fruit. It was shriveled and discolored and soft and gross. Why? Because it was placed next to some rotten fruit that should have been tossed out long ago. The moral of the story? As much as I wanted one kind of life, if I got too close to those living another kind of life, a moldy life, then I was going to end up just like them.
My gaze fell on an old Danielle Steele novel. My aunt had loaned that to my mom a few years ago. My mom rolled her eyes but took it. She isn't one to read but she didn't want to hear her sister going on about how great it was so she took it just to shut her up. Seeing the book made me long for my aunt. We only saw her on holidays but I suddenly wanted to see her. She was the closest example I could think of who lived the kind of life I wanted to live. Yes, I decided, I would call her and hope she would be willing to spend some time with me. She somehow escaped the lying gene. She would know and understand where I am coming from. She could help me find my way out.
On the way home we had to stop by my dad's office. He was running late, as usual, and Mom needed- I'm not sure what she needed, probably just to check up on him. His excuses were getting flimsier to the point it seemed better just not to ask anymore. She dropped me a Dudley off at the front door so we could run ahead while she found a parking spot. Dudley is my younger brother. That's not his real name. I use to tease him that he was a dud, which turned into Dudley. I actually use it kind of affectionately now. No, I'm not lying. He and I get along pretty well. We try to entertain each other when Mom and Dad are fighting to keep our minds off of what's going on in the other room.
We're both kind of quiet when we go through the lobby and ride the elevators up to Dad's floor. Mom popping in on Dad does not sound like a good idea and I think we are both preparing ourselves for an inevitable fight. I wish I had my license and was able to drive Dudley and myself far far away from this. As the elevator dings and the doors open Dudley elbows me and I see a glint in his eye. He's declared himself a ladies man at the ripe old age of fourteen. The way his eyes are set on a group of women gossiping around the office copier makes me laugh, and then groan. "Go get 'em, Tiger." Why not? He's harmless and he will no doubt brighten their day. Even though he's my brother I can admit he's funny.
I head on to Dad's office. Maybe if I can give him a heads up then we can avoid a fight, or at least minimize it. As I get to his office door I see him with a woman who is very much NOT my mom. She's beautiful and way to close to my dad. She's giggling and he's holding one of her hands in both of his. He then plays with a tennis bracelet and tells her it looks beautiful on her. I feel sick. I'm too stunned to move or think. I don't want to see this, but I can't move. I can't speak. I don't know whether to scream or cry. I do, however, need to remind myself to breathe.
The sound of my brother's laughter breaks me out of it. "Dad, stop!" I don't know if I yelled it or whispered it, but he and his...whoever she is...jump as if I'd screamed it. They are both startled and start mumbling excuses. I didn't hear them, I was just glad they had separated before Dudley saw them so close.
I sensed my mother's presence more than anything else. She rushed past me into the office. I hadn't moved from the spot where I froze by the door. She went straight to the woman and lifted the wrist with the bracelet on it. Mom didn't say a word. She looked at my dad and her expression said everything. The woman stammered out an excuse about finding in the back of her car. Even I knew that was bologna.
Mom then looked at me. "What were they doing when you came in here? You caught them doing something, didn't you?"
Okay, I know I decided not to lie anymore not more than two hours ago, but I was pretty sure admitting what I saw was going to have life changing ramifications. I didn't want to be responsible for that. As much as I like to make the case to my parents that I'm not a kid anymore, in this instance I want to play the "I'm just a kid" card. Rather than lie I grab Dudley by the arm. "Let's give them a minute," I say as I lead him away. Okay, so not admitting anything is technically a lie of omission, but come on! Too heavy to fast. My venture into the world of truth needs shouldn't contain such a steep slope.
Fortunately I was never pressed for an answer as to what I witnessed in my dad's office. Unfortunately, the result was the same. My parents were getting a divorce. Over the next weeks and months I looked at things with new eyes. Every time I noticed a lie I played the what if game. What if they told the truth? I'm pretty sure my grandparents would be happier and argue less. I'm not sure about my parents. I figure either they would have avoided their problems becoming so bad or their marriage would have ended sooner. I started wondering about my friends. Sure, if they told the truth they would get into trouble, but if they made a commitment to truth they wouldn't do the things that got them in trouble. So that got me to thinking. What used to be a game of getting away with things has changed for me. Not wanting to end up like my parents and grandparents meant not trying to get away with things. That meant not doing a lot of things I used to do. Which made me a whole lot less fun to be with according to my friends.
They were all the same, I decided. My friends, my parents, my grandparents. Yes, they were at different stages of their lives, but the attitude was the same. That the world owed them something and that they needed to lie and cheat in order to get it. They were bitter and unhappy and didn't trust anyone. Not even each other. That's not the kind of life I want. It made me think of the moldy orange that I pulled out of the refrigerator for a snack last night. I was looking forward to a refreshing, juicy, healthy, sweet snack. That's what I wanted out of life. I want it to be refreshing, something to look forward to. Juicy, eventful, intriguing. Healthy, physical health, sure, but also a life that's going in the right direction. A life that leads somewhere that I want to go. And sweet. Something that I will look back on and smile. But instead I got a moldy piece of fruit. It was shriveled and discolored and soft and gross. Why? Because it was placed next to some rotten fruit that should have been tossed out long ago. The moral of the story? As much as I wanted one kind of life, if I got too close to those living another kind of life, a moldy life, then I was going to end up just like them.
My gaze fell on an old Danielle Steele novel. My aunt had loaned that to my mom a few years ago. My mom rolled her eyes but took it. She isn't one to read but she didn't want to hear her sister going on about how great it was so she took it just to shut her up. Seeing the book made me long for my aunt. We only saw her on holidays but I suddenly wanted to see her. She was the closest example I could think of who lived the kind of life I wanted to live. Yes, I decided, I would call her and hope she would be willing to spend some time with me. She somehow escaped the lying gene. She would know and understand where I am coming from. She could help me find my way out.
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