Sometimes when parts of my "story" slip out in conversation it occurs to me that I sound tragic but knowing me in real life it is quiet clear that in fact I am a very joyful, optimistic person. I, of course, take no credit for this but consider it a gift of God. The peace exudes from my soul not of my doing but of graciousness. Today while talking with a co-worker, I mentioned that Peanut had lived with my mother before because her and I lived together for a while after Gil died. Living alone is just not something I was designed for. I need people, I need the opinions of others to help color my world. This need of others is probably the main reason I keep up this journal.
To know that I am not alone.
To know that someone "out there" gets me. That my slightly whimsical points of view are not isolated vistas but rather marked roadside stops where all the savvy tourist go. I like belonging. This acceptance I feel is what keeps me coming back to my journal whenever I think about giving it up. I doubt I'd ever delete it but.....Sometimes I think nobody really reads it anyway. No one cares. Boo who.......This is the voice of the ugly duckling sixth grader that I keep tucked in one of the rooms of my heart.
The brat has key and sometimes gets out.
I did not fit in in sixth grade...I was taller than anyone but this overgrown 6 foot, freckle faced, red-headed boy who, in retrospect, had a crush on me. I had HUGE um, Huge um....anyway I shopped for bras in the Adult section not the junior section where I got everything else, I had bad, bad, bad skin and then to top it all off I was smart and shy. This did not make for a good combination.
I started my womanly cycle in the sixth grade while wearing a very frilly yellow dress. Had no idea and the teacher had to send me off to the nurse's office for the unmentionables. Now this was in the seventies when young women still used pads with the belt thingy. There were no sticky panty liners with wings back then folks. And virgins DID NOT use tampons. Nada, no way, no how.
So here I was, a head taller than anyone else but one boy, in a bright yellow frilly dress, with buck teeth (no really), big um big ones, pimples like a pizza, a mattress pad in my underwear and I was sporting a big red stain on the back.
In sixth grade.
No wonder I don't take too much serious now....I have already endured. There is nothing anyone else can dish up that could torture me more today.
This is why I journal, to remind myself how far I've come with God's grace and to realize I have a long road ahead of me.
A lot of woman talk below.....
Sometimes when parts of my "story" slip out in conversation it occurs to me that I sound tragic but knowing me in real life it is quiet clear that in fact I am a very joyful, optimistic person. I, of course, take no credit for this but consider it a gift of God. The peace exudes from my soul not of my doing but of graciousness. Today while talking with a co-worker, I mentioned that Peanut had lived with my mother before because her and I lived together for a while after Gil died. Living alone is just not something I was designed for. I need people, I need the opinions of others to help color my world. This need of others is probably the main reason I keep up this journal.
To know that I am not alone.
To know that someone "out there" gets me. That my slightly whimsical points of view are not isolated vistas but rather marked roadside stops where all the savvy tourist go. I like belonging. This acceptance I feel is what keeps me coming back to my journal whenever I think about giving it up. I doubt I'd ever delete it but.....Sometimes I think nobody really reads it anyway. No one cares. Boo who.......This is the voice of the ugly duckling sixth grader that I keep tucked in one of the rooms of my heart.
The brat has key and sometimes gets out.
I did not fit in in sixth grade...I was taller than anyone but this overgrown 6 foot, freckle faced, red-headed boy who, in retrospect, had a crush on me. I had HUGE um, Huge um....anyway I shopped for bras in the Adult section not the junior section where I got everything else, I had bad, bad, bad skin and then to top it all off I was smart and shy. This did not make for a good combination.
I started my womanly cycle in the sixth grade while wearing a very frilly yellow dress. Had no idea and the teacher had to send me off to the nurse's office for the unmentionables. Now this was in the seventies when young women still used pads with the belt thingy. There were no sticky panty liners with wings back then folks. And virgins DID NOT use tampons. Nada, no way, no how.
So here I was, a head taller than anyone else but one boy, in a bright yellow frilly dress, with buck teeth (no really), big um big ones, pimples like a pizza, a mattress pad in my underwear and I was sporting a big red stain on the back.
In sixth grade.
No wonder I don't take too much serious now....I have already endured. There is nothing anyone else can dish up that could torture me more today.
This is why I journal, to remind myself how far I've come with God's grace and to realize I have a long road ahead of me.