Waiting for the shoe to drop

Whenever things go well in my life I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Being vaguely nervous about something you can't do anything about is foolish.

So... I'm a fool.

Work is going well. I'm finally trusting a guy with a piece of my heart again. And my friends are great people.

And here I am not enjoying it fully because I'm waiting for it all to fall apart.

I just need to relax and enjoy and take it as it comes. For right now, my squeeze is surprising me every day by showing me he cares in different ways. I'm grateful for it.

I always do this to myself. Someone loves me and wants to be with me and I start searching out why he's all wrong for me. Yes, he could be doing better for himself but right now he's really making an effort. I don't care about material wealth. As long as I can get by and not be struggling, I'm content. I just hate wasted potential. He has a good heart and a crazy sense of humor. And he's trying. Small changes and bigger ones and he's not retreating from it yet.

If somebody wants to be with me, that doesn't mean something's wrong with them. It means they're smart enough to notice all the awesomeness I provide.

I deserve this and even if it doesn't last, I won't be able to say I didn't give it a fair shot.

Sorry boys. I'm off the market. 

What is the importance of a poem?

Poems try to explain or describe what feeling are or tell a story.
Awareness.
I'm writing with a silver mechanical pencil.
I feel the pain in my hand from gripping the pencil too tightly for too long.
I see the words form on the page as I write them.
My mind and eyes seek put the imperfections of my writing and my body.
I can feel the bracelets sliding on my one wrist and the brace on the other.
I can feel the coolness of the air against my skin and hear the silence of my room. 

Incoming insult warning signs

Common phrases that should immediately get your attention.

How shall I put this?
Now don't take this the wrong way.
I've been thinking about some things.
We need to talk.
I don't mean to be rude.

My Life Plan circa 1997

Kristen's Life Plan   (written in December 1997) 
1. Get a good job.
2. Get a nice home.
3. Start writing again.
4. Start singing again
5. Start reading again(Finish Les Miserables)
6. Find someone to share it with
7. PAY OFF BILLS
8. Get a pet
9. Stop smoking
10. Go to Wales
11. Go to Australia
12. Go RVing
13. Visit the Malls of the Americas
14. Go to the Smithsonian
15. Go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art
16. Go to a castle
17. See Phantom of the Opera on Broadway
18. Watch West Side Story
19. Go to Jess's wedding
20. Go to Jenn's wedding
21. Go bungee jumping
22. Go skydiving
23. Swim with dolphins
24. Go on a cruise with Ricardo Montalban
25. Meet Madeleine L'Engle
26. Pick up that picture from Olan Mills
27. Learn to play the violin
28. Win the lottery
29. Own a Mazda Miata convertible
30. Have kids.

I was 19 when I wrote this.

What I've done on the list
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 14,15, 16, 17, 19, 21, 25, 26

What may be happening now
6


What I've yet to do
7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 18, 22, 23, 24, 28, 29

What I've decided not to do
8, 27, 30

What I couldn't do
20

I used to be tall

When I was seven years old, I was head and shoulders taller than the rest of the class. I did all my goring early. After sixth grade I only grew another 2 inches. And I wasn't just tall. I was big.

I had breasts and hips and looked at least 3 years older than my classmates. I hunched and tried not to draw attention to myself. My body was a woman's body but I was still a little girl. Adults always assumed I was older than I was as did the kids.

I was shy. I knew I was different. The chub and the glasses didn't exactly help the situation either. Just another reason to be picked on.

When I was seven we moved to Illinois. Small bitty town called Lindenhurst Village. Dad was teaching up at the naval base. I had lots of friends in Connecticut but when the navy tells you to move, you go.

My first day of school, in a new school, in  a new state, got off to a horrendous start. It all started at the bus stop. I was waiting for the bus and so was this girl April. April was pretty and tiny and a bitch. She was also the most popular girl in school. She asked me my name and immediately started in.

"Did you get held back? You look dumb to me. Dumb and ugly. I'll call you Medusa. You're so ugly you could turn people to stone just by looking at them." said the demon child.

I was shocked by the attack. I'd never been told I was ugly before. I'd never been called dumb. I was too hurt and confused to speak up.

The bus came. Everyone was already sitting with their friends and there were no empty seats. Meanwhile, April was still at it.

"Don't let her sit with you! Ugliness might be catching." she said as she sauntered to her seat laughing.

Then another girl piped up."Come sit with me." Her name was Jenny Lynn Schultz and she ended up being the best friend I ever had.

Jenny and I practically lived at each other's houses. She was kind and generous. She got tormented too. Not through any flaw of her own but because she was friends with me. I loved her.

That first day and many to follow, I cried on the way home from school.  Cruel and mean words followed me home. My parents did the best they could to comfort me.

Lindenhurst was not a military family friendly town. I once had a girl in my class tell me she wanted to be my friend but her mother told her not to be, since I would be moving again. That's right. Her mother.

This went on for the whole three years we lived there. Every day I was told I was dumb, stupid, fat and ugly. I was worthless. I was Medusa. Yep, the nickname stuck. (Thank you, April.)

By the time we moved back to Connecticut, I had no self esteem. I expected to be treated like garbage. Overlooked (Hopefully) or made fun of.

This little story will tell you how damaged I was.

My first day of school at Mystic Academy, we were told to put our backpacks in line and wait for the bell. I recognized one girl from church but everyone else was a stranger. All the other kids were playing and I stood by my backpack uncertain what to do.

The girl from my sunday school class came up to me. "Come and play with me! Come meet my friends!"she said.

I thought she was joking. She pulled me by the hand and I went. Suspicious and wary of when the jokes would start. They never did. At least I wasn't singled out anymore.

I was ten. I believed no one would want to be my friend. I believed I was fat and ugly and stupid and good for nothing.

It's taken me a long long time to recover my senses and to believe the people who told me I was pretty. I was worth something.

Now and then, I still struggle with it. I try to believe the compliments as much as the criticism. I'm still growing into the person I want to be. One thing a friend told me really stuck with me. Don't put yourself down. The rest of the world will be trying to.

So in my head, I recognize my achievements, my friendships, my good qualities and my survival skills. The world can try to beat me down, but now it'll have a hell of a fight.

When Dreams Come True

Back in high school, I had this dream.

I was with my family celebrating a special occasion. We had decided to go to this restaurant on the beach. Beautiful view. Sea and shore and fancy food. I was wandering around the restaurant to check it out while we were waiting on our food to be served. I was on the second floor when my brother came up behind me. He was dressed as a monk. I told him we had already ordered and he should go down and tell them what he wants. Then he came at me with a knife. I ran. I rushed down the stairs to find my parents and tell them that Bob had lost his mind. I couldn't find them. I came to a door and opened it. Beyond the door was the outside of the restaurant. I was on the second story with a deranged sibling. I jumped down into the sand.

 I ran back inside to find my parents. When I got to the table my parents told me I missed the whole dinner and it was time to leave. I tried to explain that Bob was insane and they told me not to worry about him. He had his own way home.

We left the restaurant and as we were leaving I held open the door for this woman. She was Chinese with a silky black bob and dressed in a white button down shirt and a navy blue skirt with red heels. She smiled her thanks.

I woke up. I shook my head and remembered that my brother was NOT insane and trying to kill me and relaxed.

A week later, my family decided to go out to eat as an early celebration of my father's retirement from the navy. We went to this great restaurant which was right on the water. The food was amazing and we had a fantastic time.

We walked to the door and I held open the door for this woman who was walking in. She was Chinese with a silky black bob and dressed in a white button down shirt and a navy blue skirt with red heels. She smiled at me.

As the remembrance of the dream ran through me and my mouth dropped open in shock, she turned and winked at me. Then she walked further into the restaurant. I ran to catch up with the family.

After all, what was I supposed to say?

It's all Skippy's Fault

I have a friend who goes by the nickname Skippy. No, he's not addicted to peanut butter. Skippy is a great guy. Odd but then so are most of my friends. Skippy plays with whips and massages horses and reads romance novels. And once made me limp for nine months.

"He hurt you?" I hear you cry out in dismay.

He didn't mean to. Here's what happened.

I was at my friend's little girl's birthday party. She was turning four and was the cutest thing ever. (She still is.) There was burgers and playing at the park. We all were having a great time.

As I was all sugared and caffeined up, I was a little rambunctious. We  all started horsing around. I was randomly tickling and punching Skippy. You know how it is. He grabbed my hands and took me down.

He hooked his foot around mine and I went off balance and hit the pavement. My knee hit first. I said Ouch! and tried to get up. Didn't work so well. I couldn't straighten my leg.

We all took a trip to the walk in clinic. After a few hours and a few x-rays, they sent me home. The verdict was that nothing was broken and it must just be a strain. I got my crutches and went home.

Three days later, the swelling had gone down but I still couldn't straighten my leg without severe pain. I went back to the doctor. More x-rays. Same results.

A week after that, I went back again. This time they got me a MRI. The results came back. Apparently when my knee hit the ground the kneecap slid out of the way first. I had a deep bone bruise on the inside of my joint.  What can be done about a bone bruise? Not a thing.  It finally healed after nine months.

Skippy still feels horrible and guilty whenever I bring it up. I have a tiny mean streak that makes me laugh at him wincing over it. I forgave him five minutes after it happened.

But it is fun to see him feel bad about it. Even ten years after the fact. And in case you were wondering, Yes he does read my blog.

I bet you I just cured him of feeling bad about it.

I love you, Skippy!