Monday, February 10, 2014

Same Difference

People are always telling me, "You should write a book." Truth is, I would love to! And, I promise, I wouldn't make dangling prepositions a habit. But, as eventful as my life is, as much as God has done for me, as unique as I think the people in my life are, as much as I love each day that is given to me and I try to do with it what I should, I'm not sure I have the "IT." You know, the IT that it takes to make a book appealing, or kitschy, or worth reading beginning to end!

In my teens and twenties, and probably well into my thirties, I used to think I was some kind of freak, a geeky sort of anomaly. I dressed in costume -- some quite ridiculous -- because whatever was in fashion served only to remind me that I was not in fashion -- why try? My moods, my weight, my interests and my relationships were as volatile as weather; I could never quite seem to be everything others wanted me to be.

But now, as I near the end of my forties, I realize I didn't really know what others expected, and I didn't have to be that anyway. I am beginning to know myself, and I am not so different from everyone else. Or maybe, it's that I have come to realize that everyone else is not so different from me:

We are all insecure on our own. 
We all just want to be happy and enjoy the eighty years or so that we spend on earth. 
We all have issues. 
We are all slaves to something, and take ownership of others. 
We all want to change something.
We all have things we need to do, and don't.
We all have things we shouldn't do, and do.

So, what could I say that hasn't already been said? 

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Seeing Things My Way

I had an eye exam this week. Whoohoo! I know, you're saying, "Seriously? I'm going to read a blogpost about 'Which is better? 1. or 2? 1. or 2?'" But there is nothing like an eye exam to make you realize your limitations. You can't say, "Well, the weather's been awful, I haven't been able to jog my 40 miles a day," like you do when the physician rolls his eyes over the extra sixteen pounds. You can't commit to more frequent flossing, or taking vitamins. It is what it is. Your eyes will betray whatever delusions of youth you have managed to entertain in your senior mind. I used to think, "What kind of person can't read that HUGE! E at the top of the eye chart?!" Yeah, I used to think that.

Seriously, I think I would rather have rhinoplasty, or a colonoscopy. Maybe both. It's just you and the optometrist. You're locked in this little room. She's firing questions at you like the KGB. Does anyone feel the same kind of pressure I do? You're sitting in that big electric chair-looking thing. What if you get one wrong?! "Next round: Sudden Death!" Do they waterboard you in that room down the hall? That door is ALWAYS shut. I've begun to feel as though every second or third option is the same lens she's already shown me; she's just messing with me. Maybe she's trying to see if I'm telling the truth, or if I'm cheating somehow. They don't call this an exam for nothing, you know. A neurotic overachiever like me could have a full blown panic attack in a situation like that!

And, after what seems like hours into the exam, after the fifth or sixth "Well, how about this one?" When you hear that sigh, and her tone begins to change... "Look, Mr. Magoo, time is money. If you don't hurry up, I'm gonna set you up with a pair of Coke bottles that will make Morocco Mole feel bad for you!" And I begin to crack under the pressure. And I think I taste my own blood in my throat. And I just blurt out, "THAT ONE! Yes! That one." It is then I realize the best is yet to come...

I have to pay for this.