Tawnya

It was the first day of Kindergarten and I couldn’t have been more excited. Brand new things to learn and new people to meet. Energy leaked out of me with every bounce.

We all mingled in the first room, taking in the toys and books and tables and carpets and SO MANY THINGS! Some kids cried, while I physically pushed my parents away. “You can go now!”

And then I saw the prettiest girl I’d ever seen in my life. What else could I notice first but her pile of espresso curls upon curls upon curls? That many curls a girl could only pray for, especially a girl like me with ashy brown, pin-straight hair. Nobody would die for my hair. But hers?

She was dark and beautiful with huge brown eyes and a bashful smile. I wanted to be just like her, I just knew it.

I don’t recall how I approached her, but I must have pounced. Eventually, or suddenly, I said, “Let’s be best friends.” To which she smiled and replied, “Okay!”

And then we were.

We were completely opposite, yet joined at the hip. One of us shy, the other precocious, both of us quick to giggle. We both wanted the other’s hair. I was sure she was insane for wanting mine, naturally not understanding the challenge of such a mass of curl.

Yet while I had always thought we were poor (and by most standards, we were), her family lived in near poverty. They moved often, between trailers and hotel rooms and even unfinished houses her father was building. She often stayed over and her family spent many holidays with mine.

I was too young to understand how much older than me her life made her. All I knew was I wanted her to be happy and, over the years, I did my best, constantly hamming it up to make her laugh.

My childhood is a blur of memories with her. Sitting next to each other on field trips as we whisper back and forth. Sleepovers where we cackle late into the night, waking my mother over and over and over.  Getting our faces painted. Sharing clothes. Endless games and make believe. Cheeks pressed together for a photo.

About the sixth or seventh grade, she pulled away. Who knows why? Maybe I wasn’t cool enough for her anymore or she found new friends or maybe I just knew her too well. I mourned our friendship for far too long. Such losses are devastating, let alone in junior high where even the smallest snub meant the end of the world.

I see her now on Facebook, her children with the same big eyes and gorgeous curls. She looks happy. That's all I could ask for.

This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: Your assignment for this week is to write about a memory of yourself WITH someone else. Remember, it’s MEMOIR, so it needs to be about YOUR experience with this person and it needs to be TRUE. Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.

Fears

I'm scared of lots of things and I'm not scared of much. Little things? Piece of cake. I'll probably jump out of an airplane one day (finances willing) or off a cliff into the Mediterranean or whatever. I get a little thrill of the typically scary things.

But the big things? Terrify me. Terrify me to the point that I worry these fears dictate my decisions or freeze me to the point where I make no decisions at all.

However, there are exceptions. I'll give myself that. I did quit my steady job to move a gathousand miles (okay, not quite that much) to live somewhere new where I only knew maybe 4 people. I was chasing happiness but it was definitely scary beyond my normal comfort zone.

And I do love learning new things. Things are awesome right now at le job because I'm getting so much new stuff thrown at me. I just eat that right up.

But my fears are deep, deep, deep. I'm so scared of becoming someone I don't want to be. I'm scared that because I try so hard to not be that person. To not be crazy, to not be a burden on others, that I might become its equally destructive opposite.

I'm scared of becoming my mom. I'm scared of drug addiction and inviting addiction into my life. I'm scared of her crazy, of it infecting me, of losing my mind. I'm scared of being cruel and narcissistic.

What if she's made it impossible for me to be a good mother?

"For a mother to be expected to show up sane and reliable is the least any kid deserves."

I read that in a book the other day and it slew me. I started bawling, in between bites of salad, sitting outside next to all the other workers on their lunch breaks, I just cried at the truth of my life.

But I'm also scared that I blame everything on her. I'm scared that it's impossible for me to be an adult because I can't get over this huge thing of my past. At what point can I just let it go and just be ME? Who am I even really? How much of me is my past anyway?

And what if I can't ever move past this? What if I'm so damaged that I can't ever conduct myself normally in a relationship or be a mother or what have you? I have no idea what I'm doing half the time. I'm just bumbling through hoping I don't fuck myself over yet again and again.

What if I just go the other way and end up this pathetic doormat to life? Afraid to ask for or take what I want because that would be too narcissistic right?  I'm afraid of not finding that balance. Of not knowing the difference between what's important to stand firm on and what I should just let go.

In short? I'm just damned afraid. And I'm damned afraid that I don't have the skills to be the person I want to be or even think I'm capable of being or deserve to be.

In my professional life? I can kick ass. I'm confident and brilliant and can take whatever is thrown at me with gusto.

In my personal life? I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing. Ever really. Winging it. Constantly.

But I don't know how else to be. Don't know who else to be.



But at the end of the day, these are just fears and I know that. It doesn't make them any less scary, though. Nevertheless, I'm nothing if not stubborn as all fuck. Lots of people have given up on me, so I figure someone should stick around. Might as well be me.

the kind of girl

I’ll admit that I was beginning to have feelings even though I’d told myself I wouldn’t.

He really wasn’t my type and we really didn’t have anything in common, including a common city. The 2 hour drive definitely made things difficult, but I was just beginning to feel it was worth it.

I’d held back as long as I could but was beginning to crack, to let him in, to really care.

He’d been in town the weekend before, which had been good. Blissful even.

I went for a run and came back sweaty and happy. Sprawled out on my living room floor, my head pulled to my knees, really deep into the stretch, my phone rang.

A smile immediately found me. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

We shot the shit for a few minutes. Talked about our days, work, the weather.

“Sooo when will I see you next?” Flirty, yes.

“Look. Things are getting busy at work and I don’t think you understand how demanding my job is. I’m a busy guy and you work a lot too, I know. You’re a lot of fun though. It’s just...”

It suddenly dawned on me what was happening. This wasn’t my first rodeo. “Are you dumping me?”

“I guess I am.”

“Over the phone? Seriously?”

“...”

“I just thought I deserved a little more than that. You were just here and you waited until now?”

“Look, don’t get crazy. I thought we were really getting along.”

“Um. Yeah. I thought so too. So I don't understand...”

“You’re a cool chick, totally fun. But you’re not the kind of girl you have feelings for.”

Despite my best efforts, a small gasp escaped me. Not the kind of girl you have feelings for? How does anyone hear that and respond?

In that instant, he stripped away from me my worth and tossed it aside like a dirty rag. Left me naked and broken. 

He spoke finally. “Look...”

I sucked up every last bit of strength and dignity. “I’m done here.” And pressed end with my thumb. End indeed.
 
Not the kind of girl you have feelings for. Two years later, it still haunts me.

This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: We all have them. Memories that we wish we could forget…things that we wish we could banish from our minds. Imagine that writing down your worst memory will free you of it. What is it? Why does it haunt you? What could you have done differently?
Write it down and let it go. Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.

This Week at Sprocket Ink

It's Sunday and I'm just getting around to wrapping up the week. That's how much I fail today. I was sitting here, rueing my headache and feeling cranky beyond cranky, reading blogs and I suddenly remembered (!), oh yeah. I didn't write that post. I fail.

Anyway, here are my posts at Sprocket Ink LAST week:

Survey Says: Pretty People are More Selfish

New Extreme Sport: Naked Fishing

Thanks for reading.

Photo of the Day: Pretty Flower

I haven't done a photo of the day in a long while. In fact, I hadn't even taken new photos since the Fourth of July. I know! Who am I? Anyway, my roomie got some gorgeous lilies the other day and I was suddenly inspired to photograph again and I just went to town.

I like how soft and slightly out of focus this is. Gentle bokeh. Lovely late afternoon light. Le sigh.

This Week at Sprocket Ink

Nothing but fluff from me this week. I know I usually write about more serious fare, but for some reason (maybe my snot addled brain), I took on entertainment. I know. Who am I?

Just go with it.

This week, go read:

10 Celebs Who Just Need to Go Away Already
Celebs and pseudo celebs who top my list of most annoying annoyers who annoy me and who must go away now by any means necessary

Why Must Hollywood Ruin Everything?
Dirty Dancing remake? Somebody should have left this baby in the corner.

A Wish List

Would you believe it? My birthday is in less than a month. I mean, honestly, how does that happen?

I have been enjoying 30 and then suddenly 31 is upon me.

However, as little time as I have left being 30, you have just as little time to all buy me gifts. Just kidding. Or am I?

Anyways, here's my lists of crap I'd want if there were such a thing as a birthday fairy (don't pretend like you won't want a birthday fairy!). All the photos link to the product pages.
 

Vulvalicious pillow

I have wanted this pillow since I discovered it last year. It's deliciously awesome. Plus with all Hot Pants' cocks (long story), I feel like I need more vaginas around. I mean, can you ever really have enough vagina? No. The answer is no. 

Frida Kahlo Uterus

"Complete with uni-brow and an unyielding creative presence Frida proves that a woman doesn't need to pro-create to be fertile. Modeled after the feminist icon and artist Frida Kahlo: this plush features a braided floral hair-do, full and serious lips, her signature uni brow, large colorful earrings, two golden necklaces and a Spanish style skirt. This plush is made of soft vegan fleece and she measures about 11 1/2" from fallopian tube to fallopian tube."

In other words? Awesome.

Recycled Tee Scarf

I can't decide if I just want this or I want to learn how to make it. Either way, maybe. Or both! Instructions on how to make it are at the link. 

Junk Mail Portraits

I want. I want. I want. So damn cool.

Lelo Mona

Because while Goldie is awesome, I'm hankering for someone new to keep my G spot company while Hot Pants works 5 thousand hours a week. Plus, her name is Mona. Mona! 

Ithaa Restaurant

I don't want this as much as I just want to eat here. Maybe for my birthday dinner. I kind of don't even care what kind of food they serve because THEY SERVE IT UNDERWATER! How fucking cool is THAT? And, oh yeah, it's in the Maldives, so not exactly convenient for a dinner trip.

Four Seasons Hotel, Bora Bora

Again, I don't want to own the hotel, just stay there. I mean, honestly, how utterly cool would that be?

Birthday fairy? Hello?