There are a lot of parts of me that I miss, now that they've gone.Like my waist. I miss that. It was lovely.
My ovaries are making for the door now, too--and that's okay, I guess. I was finished with them anyway. If I have any regrets about that particular parting, it's that they're being so damned sneaky about it--like I can't tell that they're trying to put a fork in it and beat it. I wish they would just get their hat and get on with it already. Who needs a long, drawn-out good-bye?
But my ego-boundary? I needed that.
As it turns out, it's really important to be able to tell where I leave off and someone else begins--otherwise, every awful thing that happens to my next door neighbor may as well happen to me. Without the ability to differentiate between me and thee, I'm a mess.
Which is why it's so common these days to sail around the corner in the grocery store and run ashore of a weeping, middle aged woman standing in the freezer section. No doubt something in the heat-and-eat case set me off.
It took all of two StoryCorps episodes to teach me to avoid listening to that particular show, but lots of stories on NPR seem innocuous until they twist your heart out. Standing ovations make me cry. Veteran's Day parades break my heart, and I'm not known as a great patriot. I don't even know any veterans. John Lennon's music on the radio hurts me. Last year, Kelli Pickler and her grandpa nearly landed me in therapy.
So do me a favor. If you see me sobbing in the crunchy and delicious drive-through taco lane, just look away. There's no real reason to make it into a big, hairy deal. And hey--don't feel like you have to share with me the story of dropping your toast, butter side down, on the floor at breakfast this morning.
There's only so much I can take.
photo, Piotr Ciuchta.
Which is why it's so common these days to sail around the corner in the grocery store and run ashore of a weeping, middle aged woman standing in the freezer section. No doubt something in the heat-and-eat case set me off.
It took all of two StoryCorps episodes to teach me to avoid listening to that particular show, but lots of stories on NPR seem innocuous until they twist your heart out. Standing ovations make me cry. Veteran's Day parades break my heart, and I'm not known as a great patriot. I don't even know any veterans. John Lennon's music on the radio hurts me. Last year, Kelli Pickler and her grandpa nearly landed me in therapy.
So do me a favor. If you see me sobbing in the crunchy and delicious drive-through taco lane, just look away. There's no real reason to make it into a big, hairy deal. And hey--don't feel like you have to share with me the story of dropping your toast, butter side down, on the floor at breakfast this morning.
There's only so much I can take.
photo, Piotr Ciuchta.
2 comments:
Deb just so you know I am a vet and so are two of my brothers and my father so you cant so you dont know at least one vet even if it is through Kaye or her southern alias. No need to post this I am just too lazy to look for your email account.
These moments of what ever do have their purpose. Remember the memorial day parade just prior to the Gulf War and how it inspired one of your first forays(sp?) into writing for the popular medium, our local home town paper? I still think you have a great novel somewhere in there and all this passion is looking for a channel.
Post a Comment