The haters of the world make me sad. To me they just cause excess stress. Trying to figure out their existence is like asking Mom the perpetual “why?” question. Dad Hugs. Haters need a big, warm Dad Hug. I saw a video clip on Facebook the other day, already forget where it’s from, and a little girl was crying to her dad in the car. When he tried asking her what was wrong, she kept crying and couldn’t tell him. He kept asking, but when he realized she wasn’t going to tell, he finally asked her if she wanted a hug. She nodded, “yeah,” and he gave her a big ole Dad Hug. Her crying stopped. That. That is what all haters need. If only…
Because of my past experiences I fully understand Kelly Clarkson’s song, “Because of You.” My parents. Because of my past experiences I am most attracted to listening to pop music. Also my parents, but mostly my dad. Because of my past experiences I have had to learn how to socialize. Me…and my parents. I feel weird admitting that, but if you knew the whole story, you would understand where I’m coming from. Because of my past experiences I’ve become better at reading people, both at work and outside of work. My former and current friends and co-workers. This one makes me sad to admit even though I know I’m not the only one. Sad because that’s the reality of humankind.
And reality…isn’t always how we pictured it to be. Usually it is depicted as something negative, a situation worse than we expect or want it to be. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time and money escaping from reality. Some of us build our whole lives around bigger and better ways we can escape reality. Some of us face it every day without ever getting a break. I just hope it doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. I want to believe reality can be something to look forward to all the time rather than to escape all the time.
Learn from me and don’t ever say you want to be invisible out loud. Trust me, no matter how shy you may be, no matter how scared you may be to take a risk, no matter how embarrassed you are, you don’t actually ever want to be invisible. Once you say it out loud, even if only as a joke, you’ll start to see just how many different ways you can be ignored, forgotten, and screwed over.
My first reaction has been anger a lot lately and that is wrong. Wait, is there even such a thing as multiple reactions or are we limited to one reaction per situation? (Haha, I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore. Can you tell?) Anyway…I’ve noticed little things that didn’t bother me that much before now bother me so much, causing me to have a short fuse. Of course, I don’t have any examples because that’s how my brain works. Probably hours after I hit “publish” I’ll have this concrete example and be able to share my “aha!” moment, but this will be posted already so what’s the point, yeah? 😉 There’s no doubt I’m weird.
I thought about maybe I’m just losing my patience, like I’m just not as patient as I used to be. But I really don’t know the answer to my own question. I will say this though: I have become quicker to cut people out of my life who mess with me or don’t treat me right. I have a lower tolerance for people’s excuses, lies, and manipulation. (Which now thinking about it could all go under the category of manipulation, but I’ve been known to be redundant.) I think because of the experiences I have had I have become better at recognizing fake. I think I’ll take that over worrying about what people think of my short fuse.
When I got back from the Dominican Republic, all I wanted to do was escape again. Overwhelmed was putting it lightly. My brain was back to reality, but reality hadn’t set in. I was spacey, tired, sad, sleepy, confused, empty, guilty, giddy, happy, and nervous all rolled into one. My head hurt a little, but my brain couldn’t comprehend that pain. It was too distracted. Everyone wanted to know what I did there, how was it?, and no, beyond the bug bites and sunburn! Beach, a couple excursions, I said to some. I left out the buffets and unlimited drinks to some others. All I wanted to do was find out how the Orchestra was doing since he went. Am I allowed to feel giddy and happy in the midst of him being gone? I didn’t know then and I still don’t know now.
There is a tribute for him in his old chair, complete with his trumpet and a picture of him smiling with his dog. It is not the same without him physically present and I want to cry when I see it, only no tears slide down. I see my stand partner tearing up and all I can do is touch her arm lightly. I should hug her, I should say something wise, but I have nothing to offer except for that light touch. I am thinking of the last words I said to him and how I’m still in shock. “Thank you” seems not enough to express my gratitude for his presence, but I’m glad I got the chance to say it. Even one last time, unknowingly.
How unfair life really is, this short living, breathing beast that we must face every single day and yet never know how much longer we have left. It didn’t happen. He’s going to be back when it’s Orchestra time, not band only. It’s just going to be band only for a while. Orchestra welcomes me back, especially the string section, but I just feel guilty I went away to the Caribbean, where the sun and personal heartbreak is eight times stronger than anywhere else, while everyone else was left here to mourn, here to pray, here to have to come up with things to say to his parents, here to visit, and here to suffer in silence together.
Tonight I want to weep in the shower, except all that comes out is an inscrutable sound, like the start of a wail that was cut short by pure grief that wanted to hide. He’s gone and I didn’t say good-bye. I prayed, but I was too cowardly to really say good-bye. I have already gone through too much and I can’t go through another one. My brain is twisted. I am happy for the progression of my personal life, even though I’m afraid to really talk about it. This feeling mixed with loss is a confusing mess of emotions, an amalgam of fears I can’t chase away no matter how hard I go to work.
Fear makes you late to your dentist appointment. You overthink every little thing you are going to say to the receptionist. Perfectionism is on your brain and you can’t snap out of it. Then the receptionist asks you how you are doing and you word vomit all over her so now you just have this pile of spitball slush that you can’t clean up because you don’t have a word mop for all the English papers that come flying out of your mouth.
After the appointment you have a second pile of spitball slush waiting to be fired out to your next target because you just learned something new. The question is, who is going to be your next target? You contemplate talking to Nala, but she’s been cranky for demanding an earlier feeding time since 6:00 a.m. when you crawled out of bed to attempt to not be late to your dentist appointment. Now that it’s 10:00 a.m. she’s not ready for your spitball slush – female feline needs to eat!
The text rolls in and already you’re overthinking your response to a ding you can only hear and not see. It’s almost your feeding time so you decide to grab lunch first and make it to your next Saturday appointment before having a picnic in your car to guarantee that this time you will be punctual. You get there early instead and perfectionism kicks into gear again. In six months you get to battle with fear again, only by then, you will have taken 500 naps to prepare for the moment you walk into the dentist’s office.
The sun had finally set. The day was finally over. All was quiet – until that fateful knock at the door…I froze in the middle of doing the dishes and Mom looked up. Two women were standing on our front porch and they were the kind of women not welcome inside our home, the Belle Watlings of the world. We were perturbed, for there really was no reason for these kinds of women to be coming to our house. Who could they be?
All we knew was they drove a white van and they were looking for something. Or someone…We didn’t answer the door and in a few boring minutes, they walked back to their van, pulled out some paper which I’m assuming has directions, then pulled away.
I finished the dishes and kept thinking about where these women came from and where they were headed. A dinner party? No, that can’t be right. Unless it was Great Gatsby style, there’s no way they were going to a dinner party dressed like that. Were they looking for people to convert? Ha! Unless it was some Magic Mike religion, there’s no way they were evangelists.
Whatever these women were up to, they were long gone now and on their way to the Right Place. For their sakes, I hoped they got there.