Watching Life Go By

Watching life go by

My thoughts written down as I continue watching... The first time I teared up watching the patriotic documentary was when you got the call from a nice lady who gave you bad news. (I won’t tell you how many times tears were shed after the call lest I be compared with John Boehner.) I did sing along, but I’m also taking my morning medicinal toke before breakfast, which may or may not be eggs, so my voice is weak. (I plan a gym visit later today after it cleans out.)And now I’m pausing the documentary because I want to take it all in and post my thoughts online like a good little millennial (even though I’m taller than most millennials and I’m actually Generation X. Can you tell that I’ve heard many a Baptist preacher – and have adapted their tendency to drone on and on and on? 

I’m eager to let you experience the other side of it all, where it’s OK not to be perfect but neither of us has to like being imperfect. As a kid I would throw temper tantrums when I couldn’t get something just “perfect.” When the lines weren’t straight enough in the fictional Southern city I was drawing, I went to the office supply store and bought a ruler. Straight, clean lines are the best. To this day I prefer writing with pencils because you can erase it cleanly.

I insert my foot in my mouth even faster than my brother Peter could ever think about doing. It’s a gift and a curse. It helps, though, when you just see your previous words in the context of a new truth: cancer. The next time I teared up in the documentary was when I heard your mom has cancer. That’s a truth that hits me hard, too. I’m surviving it so far, but it makes me long to wander the wonders of life. Preferably with a few hippies and someone to love. Someone who doesn’t mind being the “good” one, since we all know I’m the bad kid. (My brother compares me to Macaulay Culkin in “The Good Son.” He’s one to talk! (Hello, pot. This is kettle. …) It's hard to turn the other cheek, especially when you know you’re in the right (or at least not in the wrong), but that’s what we have to remember to do. As Sheldon Cooper likes to remind us on perpetual reruns, haters gon’ hate. Players gon’ play. And the best woman will win every time. 

***I’ll probably clean up most of my social media feeds today. I need to get more real instead of live in the clouds, and we all know that tweeting one’s stream-of-consciousness does not suit anyone. Ever. For myself, sometimes I like to put out my raw thoughts to test the waters. But the hit hurts every time. And for the record, boots hurt like hell.