There are steps one must take when avoiding losing one's mind. In the past it's been alcohol . . . for me anyway. And lately, it's been alcohol with the occasional cigarette. (I stole them from your car because I didn't think YOU needed to be smoking them) And so, I'm only slightly tipsy as I write this passage . . . with only one cigarette in my system. This past week I've been running like a crazy person. The track at Catawba has become my so called "bff" -- so when I feel insanity knocking on the gates to my mind, I take off. Sometimes I run a mile; sometimes two. and I don't give a fuck that my knee swells up to the size of a baseball. I run anyway. It clears the mind. Makes me feel strong. Sometimes the football players are there preparing for the upcoming season. Sometimes they stare at me. Perhaps that's because deep down they're making fun of the white opalescent skin tone I carry . . . but their minds find me attractive, and I know it. And what once used to flatter me no longer does. In some ways this revelation stuns me. I used to be the type of girl who could be easily flattered by fat lesbians with bad haircuts -- I was that much of an ugly duckling growing up. If someone (anyone) paid attention to me I was on cloud nine. And, as time goes on, I learn lessons. Some more painful than others . . . and as my next door neighbor tells me I look hot in my swimsuit, I could care less. I am no longer thinking with my mind but with my heart. And it's because of you. Although I may be the world's greatest "fuck up", I've learned I've found more than myself because of you. Perhaps this late lesson will be the biggest "fuck up" of my life, and that makes life the ultimate riddle.
*****
On another note, my thought for the day concerns Dads. While visiting with the mother of my roommate last evening, she questioned my first memory with my father. And while pondering this, I couldn't help but retrace a memory much later.
After my parents divorced, Mom went on her marry way continuing life the way it had always been (as she is a strong woman). She cooked, she cleaned, she took care of my brother and I while simultaneously suffering from Chron's disease.
My dad, however, could not seem to function as well. Sure, he knew about domesticity, but his chores lie in bringing in the cows from pasture or mowing the lawn. Dad was not as skilled in the ways of household tasks . . . he grew up "knowing" that such jobs belonged to the women of the household. And he was correct having grown up in the era he had grown up in. After my parents' divorce, he was forced to learn how to rear us part of the time.
His mother began teaching him the basic food groups in order to keep us alive and healthy.
It will not surprise you to know that my father put this newfound knowledge to use. Awakening one morning, I headed downstairs for breakfast only to find the so called “basic food groups” staring back at me. It was a kids' dream come true. Laying on a paper plate at my place at the table were two strips of crispy bacon, sizzled to perfection. A glass of orange juice rested to the side. And lo and behold, a large bowl nestled gently into my paper plate lay an enormous mound of fluffy Snickers ice cream.
Dad explained. I had my meat group, my fruit group and my dairy. He of course, was correct.
It makes me wonder, however . . . Most Dads are grilling experts; some of the world's greatest chefs are men. I cannot say more. And then, there's my dad. Perhaps he was a man lost in the sixties. Perhaps he just never cared to learn the true and healthy ways of cooking for his children. Whatever the reason, I applaud you, Dad. Bacon and Snickers ice cream is a memory I will always have and I love you for it. Perhaps you should stick to banking . . .
