FYI...

A bit of a purging, but I may also be able to use it later:

I don’t think I’d survive very long in the wild. You see, my defense mechanism is slightly useless: I withdrawal. Yes, my great defense against the dangers and disappointments of the world is to turtle shell it. I wrap myself in a lie of apathy; all the while, I lick my wounds and scold myself for being wounded in the first place.

I do not want you to apologize, pity me, or follow me. I want you to go back in time and not hurt me. Barring miraculous time-travel mojo, however, this  outcome is unlikely. So, instead, I want you to go away, not forever (most likely), but long enough. I want you to know you cannot fix me right when you want. I want you to know that what seems like a silly disappointment to you is simply one more to add to my collection. I want you to know I will be fine; I just need time to stew, wallow, and swim in my own head until I can once again emerge a rational, even-keeled adult.

...Alone...

I see an elderly woman eating alone: wine glass, half sandwich, open book. I have seen her before – always alone. I see her and wonder so many things. Perhaps because I am there alone as well, I wonder if I’m seeing an aged version of me.


She looks content enough, but there’s a subtle look in her eyes that says otherwise. I only catch a glimpse that betrays a longing. There’s something sad, perhaps missing. And I wonder if she is eating alone for one meal that day or all of them. I wonder if she has had to eat alone for a season or a lifetime.

This second thought is the one that really gets me thinking – almost fretting- that indeed, one day, my diet coke and grading will be replaced with white wine and a novel, and someone more than half my age will hope she isn’t looking at her own personal prophecy.

Observation at Pacific Whey

Once again I am at Pacific Whey, finding myself lacking the focus (or desire) to grade. As I am thinking about this, I cannot help but hear one end of a phone conversation, and I begin to jot down what is invading my ear canal:

“Go vote. You have to vote” This was overheard at Pacific Whey. Naturally I assumed this was in regards to the upcoming primaries – silly me. In fact, as the bleach blond, botoxed, UGG wearing, middle-aged woman continued, I was reminded what happens when one assumes. This plea had nothing to do with government politics; instead, it dealt with the politics of American Idol. Yep.

I next heard “Ho Ju or Hee Ju, it doesn’t matter, no one cares…Anyway, everyone is madly in love with him…if they kick him off, I’m banning that show…You have to vote…you have to vote for him.” All while carelessly flipping through a magazine, this very one sided plea to “rock the vote” played out through this grown-up Valley girl (I use this term so you can get a mental audio of her inflections. No really, I’m not trying to be a brat, she had those tones).

I am amused with the serious intensity in which she discusses American Idol voting as though it is, in fact, the Presidential race. Then I ask: am I any better? Sure, she’s engrossed in the importance of Idol, but I am the one writing her importance down…hrrm…I worry for a moment but then alleviate my ephemeral crisis by passing it off as a useful character study.