Wearing my chucks today was a conscious choice, I said.
A coworker pointed out that I was missing the pearls.
Nah, I said. I can’t wear the pearls because I don’t wear fake pearls and since I don’t have real ones, I’ll have to do without.
Another coworker chuckled a bit and jumped in with, You just want people to know you don’t wear fake pearls.
Yes, I said, but that’s not much of a flex, is it? Since I’m also saying I’m too poor to afford real pearls. I don’t have real pearls money. So mostly I’m just admitting to a weird quirk.
I think the implication was that I was being snooty but can you be snooty while you’re also admitting you’re broke? Inquiry minds want to know.
Nothing much to say, really. I don’t usually add images to the blog posts so this is essentially a test to see how it looks.
I don’t have the energy to work up a completely new stylesheet and the stylesheet that came with the default template is so complicated that I haven’t been able to figure out how to even change the default colors. This is just a reminder, not that I really needed one, mind you, that I never went passed advanced amateur skill level when it came to my coding. Even being generous, I maybe got to beginning intermediate and that was more than a decade ago when I was still spending time learning things.
I am one of those people who still watch Grey’s Anatomy. Hi, nice to meet you. You can now say you know someone who still watches that show because despite the consistent ratings few people will admit to watching. I can’t even tell you I watch it ironically or for shits and giggles. Don’t get me wrong, I also won’t ever suggest anyone watch it or will tell you I love it. And year to year I remember maybe less than 10 character names. But here we are, the show and I, still together for 21 years.
There have been years where I’ve said I would stop because the show infuriated me so much. Meredith Grey has got to be one of the most selfish, ridiculous characters ever written. The storylines, good grief. So I let week after week go by without ever tuning in and then I’d binge watch half a season or a full season and be done with it. It’s like asking your aunt about that messy cousin and getting the low down on all, well, the messiness.
I think I mostly watch it out of habit. I am a person that craves consistency and connections. Minus a writer’s strike here and there, the show has consistently been in my life for 7-8 months of my life for 20 years. There’s history there; sure, one sided but you take what you can get. Because connections with people are not easy. You’re either too much or not enough for them. And they, they are never enough for me. I can imagine that’s exhausting for folks - trying to match my level of need. Though to say neediness makes me squirm but there is a need let’s be honest.
I watch the show and just as quickly as the credits roll I’ve probably forgotten more than half of what I just watched. I don’t know that I laugh much, but once in a while I cry. Like today, as Dr. Webber (Richard if were were closer but we are not so-) was talking with an intern about dealing with a family member who has cancer. The tears rolled as forgotten layers of guilt coursed through me. Guilt and familiarity. For slightly over a month I walked through my life thinking about the cancer that was inside my body. It was likely contained, the doctor said, but she worried it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Of course, she wouldn’t know for sure until after the surgery and she’d had a chance to check the lymph nodes.
Why the guilt? Because a surgery fixed the problem. I didn’t have to suffer through chemo treatments, no losing of the hair, nausea, exhaustion. So when others talk about the toll their cancer took on them I don’t feel able to join in on the conversation. Which I know is silly. Cancer took things from me as well and they are things I rarely talk about because they too seem wrong. A coworker tells me her faith in God was strengthened through her cancer experience. Another tells me she has this renewed sense of wonder about life. It’s hard to explain - of course I’m glad to be alive but something is missing. Pre-cancer I loved my birthdays, even if I had nothing planned (I rarely had anything planned), I was in countdown mode as soon as February hit. Before the kiddo could understand birthdays I more often than not forgot it was even coming up. Now I mark them because she has that childlike enthusiasm for birthdays.
For a month, the idea that I could be gone soon was present in my mind. For five years, each time I went to the oncologist I wondered if that would be the day I was told it had come back. Now? I don’t think about it much. I took a selfie in the hospital bed the day of the surgery (pics or it didn’t happen!) and the kiddo came upon it recently. She asked me about it and then asked where she was when it happened. I love that about kids, that incomprehension of time. I didn’t want to scare her so when she kissed my forehead and asked me if I’m all better I said of course.
But then a scene from a silly silly show has me in tears for hours and I’m reminded there’s a break inside. Well, one of many so you’d think I’d be used to the sensation. Breaks don’t disappear though, we know this. They can mend with care and that’s the bitch of it all, isn’t it? The care part. Because if I knew how to really do that then there wouldn’t be so many breaks to begin with.
When I was in my teens, looking younger was annoying.
When I was in my 20s and 30s it didn’t matter.
When I was in my 40s I used to get a kick out of being told I didn’t look it.
Now that I’m in my 50s (albeit early 50s) I don’t hear it anymore.
I blame the kid. She’s cute & I love her to pieces but 5 yrs of sleep deprivation, especially in your late 40s, takes a toll.
Writober - what’s the word to convey deeply looking forward to something but also fearing it a little? That’s Writober for me. It’s a joy and then it’s a blinking cursor on a blank page that might as well be saying, “well? well? well? well? well? well? ...”
I heard this question on a podcast on the way home and the brain decided it wanted to do something with it. And this isn’t quite right but it’s something. And writing something is the name of the game so here we go.
How are you learning to be wild?
In between the sitting downs and being quiet,
learning to be polite and smile,
being seen and not heard,
how are you learning to be wild?
To laugh deeply
To love fully
To trust without reservations?
How are you learning to be wild?
In between respectfully I disagrees
I’m sorry buts
Biting your tongue to keep the peace
How are you learning to be wild?
To push back when it feels wrong
To push away when they’re too close
To scream because you want to
not because you have to
How are you learning to be wild?
To feel any way you want, whenever you want
To choose you sometimes
Not even all the time
Just
Sometimes
How are you choosing to be wild?
Oh, you’re not?
Yeah, I get that.
If you figure it out
Will you tell me?
Please
