|Oh, the things you think of...
||[Apr. 21st, 2011|02:34 pm]
So, right, last week, it was a banner week, especially come Friday when I got the news that not only had I gotten a promotion, but that I didn't have cancer. So, when I got home and one of the cats threw up into the bag where I'd stashed all of the bills waiting to be paid/paperwork waiting to be filed, I hardly minded. And the next day, when I woke up in full excruciating back spasm, I just popped some muscle relaxers and figured it was just the universe reminding me to not get too darn CHUMMY with good fortune. |
Of course, the very first thing I thought, when the doctor gave me the all-clear was "oh, thank goodness. Now my friends can't sit around saying "I TOLD her to knock off that aspartame. I KNEW it would kill her." Because I have a certain group of friends whom I love in many regards, except for that time period when they smugly swore off (smugly was the heartburn, really) all diet soda because it was going to give them cancer and sadly shook their heads when I refused to join them. Because I had already spent a childhood having pesticides rain down on my skin while picking strawberries, and ingested my own body weight in pesticides and anti-fungals while I ate those and other produce. Not to mention grandparents whose answer to bugs was to fumigate everything and everyone. And formative years drinking every dye that Kool-Aid manufactured. Seriously, aspartame would have to get in line and take a NUMBER. But I knew that they would blame it on the Dew and I'd be dead and they'd think they would be right.
OOOOH. That would burn. So, yes, when I'm on my porch rocker, sitting in my diapers, toothless, drooling and senile and my nieces are thinking "why won't she just HANG IT UP?" it will be because I 'm trying to prove a point.
Tomorrow is Good Friday. I do not have the day off. I wish people would stop saying things like "Oh, but I guess you have tomorrow off" because it is making me bitter. I wish I had thought to take it off...but I didn't. I should take it as a personal holiday. It's probably the day the seeds of my atheism were planted. I was in Lutheran school at the time, second, third grade? We started each day reciting a passage from the Bible that we had memorized the night before. I didn't know the state capitols, but did know all of the Books of the Bible, in ORDER. And Wednesday afternoons, we went to church services across the street at the Lutheran Church. Which was cool, because we got to sing and there were the awesome dangling red forever lights...candles that never went out. (as far as I knew) But there had been a big emphasis on Good Friday that year. And I fairly giddy with anticipation. Because in the afternoon...right when we were scheduled to be in church...that's when the sky was going to turn dark, and the curtain would be ripped. And those lights were finally going to go out and that big red velvet curtain behind the altar...was going to rip down the middle and that would be COOL. Plus there would be an earthquake.
Because if you think I'm annoyingly literal now...you should have met me as a child. I don't know why I got the impression that this happened EVERY Good Friday. But I'd been to Disney several times already and I figured it was like the Tiki Bird Show...happened on schedule, included thunder, lightning and darkness, same show every time. (I MISS that show. Those talking Tiki heads were the BEST. Back when it was called Tropical Serenade. Now it sucks.)
And that Good Friday I waited and waited. I watched the hanging forever lights mostly. They were on long chains, little red glass lanterns. I figured they'd start swinging ever so slightly. The flames would start flickering and THEN it would be MAGICAL. And that curtain at the back -- big red, heavy velvet...I could imagine how slowly and softly it would fold.
And I sat and sat and watched and waited and listened to the sermon and Father told the story, which I thought would sort of ruin the surprise, but okay, maybe he didn't want people to get scared and he got to the part where the curtain tore and I thought THIS, this is IT.
And nothing happened. Color ME disappointed. So, needless to say, I didn't hold my breath waiting on a Rock on Easter morning.
So, instead, I put my faith in the Easter Bunny. Dude delivered the eggs and the candy, without fail, every Easter morning.
Oddly enough, fitting with the childhood remembrance - while this is not me...it could be. It certainly could be. Even my mother agrees with me -- her quote "Oh, look at her, she IS just like you, the way she tries so hard, but can't seem to manage it." And this is how I know I'm finally an adult -- as much as I want to take that as a veiled insult, I'm taking it as a compliment.
But here, watch this: