I believe in Murphy's law. It wasn't a choice I made one day, I didn't sit down and sort out all the rational reasons. I, like most cynical Americans, just sort of fell into counting on the bad things in life to appear. Part of my spiral (I won't say up or down) into this darker outlook on the world must of course be attributed to my parents. Those who constantly harp on subjects of never being used, never being bested, never giving when you could be taking, in short the American mottos were my words to live by growing up.
Still there is a time to put away childish protections. Murphy's Law has been built to keep me safe. Sort of like an emotional bubble wrap soaked in fecial matter. It stinks but it does the job. So what if I did put it away? What if once in a while I stepped beyond a few of my safety nets and brazenly admitted some things? What if I started saying:
Excuse me, I like you. (And prayed to God someone liked me back)
I am happy right now. (And stopped holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop)
Things seem to be going well. (And didn't expect a car to fly through my apartment door)
In other words, what if I let the good in my life? What if, not only did I let it in, but I didn't try to ignore it's presence while it was there and didn't try to protect myself by not enjoying it so it wouldn't hurt when I lost it? What might happen then?
I have no idea. I've never done it before. I was told that unless I learn to take risks (emotional risks) I am never going to get out of a stuck place. Okay, that reasoning makes sense to me. So, I am fulling entering into "the present" and I am intentionally leaving out all my fears and worries:
I am happy.
I have people I enjoy talking to.
I am excited about moving.
I have had dreams about a future which doesn't suck.
There can be more. And I can conqure that too.
Scary enough for you? It sure as hell is for me. But here we go, from a broken down, dysfunctional past, into a completely unknown future, I'm going to avoid the both of them for a bit and bite down until I see the present take shape. Because thats all I can know for right now.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
My Story 1
Two young girls sat on the old, brown couch dressed up on a weekday afternoon. We were doing less sitting and more squirming within twenty minutes. My mom had prepared us, at least in attire, for my fathers arrival. Several nights before during “his weekend” I remember sitting on my bed as he told my sister and I our great grandmother had died. It was the first time I had seen my dad cry. Now we were waiting for him to come take us to the funeral.
Waiting and waiting and waiting in fact. After half an hour had past from my dads expected entrance my mom finally let us off the couch and pull out our Polly Pockets. Initially we were only able to bring out one. My mom had watched children for many years and understood that more than twenty minutes of asking them to sit still and not wrinkle dresses, without anything else to occupy them, was beyond reason. Allowed one toy, my sister and I grew distracted.
I had never been to a funeral before. The weekday afternoon was not one that was traditionally my dads. He came every other weekend and every other Thursday. This was not one of those days. We rarely dressed up. In general the whole afternoon was set apart for an hour or so while we waited to see what would happened.
Time passed. We had been waiting for more than an hour, begging Mom to let us drag out our other toys and added to the miniaturized world of Polly. We enjoyed setting up whole towns in circles around us and disappearing into the roles of the little girl with all the interesting things to do and places to see. Polly’s world was there at the ready, all Mom had to do was okay our departure.
The moment she agreed to our living room take over it was like accepting defeat. He would not be coming. Promises and plans that had been made were broken. Expectations and new wonders about unlived experiences were delayed. Dad wouldn’t be there, the waste of time waiting, of preparing our clothing, of trying to keep the dirt and wrinkles from our dresses was futile. There was nothing special about the afternoon except that our routine had been broken, we were almost given the chance to look past our day to day worlds in the strict customary schedules we followed, and then we weren’t, and life went on for us girls.
It should probably be said, life didn’t go on so easily for mom. She was tired by the end of the day. Sadness and rage seemed to push toward the top after plans changed by my dad, in particular without a word from him. It hurt her, she would rant a bit about it, maybe step into the kitchen and cry, or just wear the look of a worn, older woman. She had no Polly Pockets to play with and wouldn’t take ours.
Waiting and waiting and waiting in fact. After half an hour had past from my dads expected entrance my mom finally let us off the couch and pull out our Polly Pockets. Initially we were only able to bring out one. My mom had watched children for many years and understood that more than twenty minutes of asking them to sit still and not wrinkle dresses, without anything else to occupy them, was beyond reason. Allowed one toy, my sister and I grew distracted.
I had never been to a funeral before. The weekday afternoon was not one that was traditionally my dads. He came every other weekend and every other Thursday. This was not one of those days. We rarely dressed up. In general the whole afternoon was set apart for an hour or so while we waited to see what would happened.
Time passed. We had been waiting for more than an hour, begging Mom to let us drag out our other toys and added to the miniaturized world of Polly. We enjoyed setting up whole towns in circles around us and disappearing into the roles of the little girl with all the interesting things to do and places to see. Polly’s world was there at the ready, all Mom had to do was okay our departure.
The moment she agreed to our living room take over it was like accepting defeat. He would not be coming. Promises and plans that had been made were broken. Expectations and new wonders about unlived experiences were delayed. Dad wouldn’t be there, the waste of time waiting, of preparing our clothing, of trying to keep the dirt and wrinkles from our dresses was futile. There was nothing special about the afternoon except that our routine had been broken, we were almost given the chance to look past our day to day worlds in the strict customary schedules we followed, and then we weren’t, and life went on for us girls.
It should probably be said, life didn’t go on so easily for mom. She was tired by the end of the day. Sadness and rage seemed to push toward the top after plans changed by my dad, in particular without a word from him. It hurt her, she would rant a bit about it, maybe step into the kitchen and cry, or just wear the look of a worn, older woman. She had no Polly Pockets to play with and wouldn’t take ours.
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