Flashback

I thought of something this morning, for reasons unknown. Something I had not thought of in a very, very long time. When I was a teenager, 14 or 15, I guess, my friends and I somehow got began a...I don't know, fad, I guess. We exchanged bracelets. A fad, I have seen among younger kids, much more recently...but a little differently. I don't know who or how it started. White nylon rope, 4 strand macrame, a pattern of knotting. I remember making a few things with macrame...it was all the rage, I guess, at the time. Anyway, the bracelets were made and exchanged, but with a twist. Nylon, when heated melts. So the bracelets weren't tied on, but melted on. Once the bracelet was placed on the wrist, it was permanent, until it was cut off. A significant symbolism to us at the time. A have no idea how many of us exchanged bracelets. There was a small group of us, friends and "couples". The one that came to mind this morning, for whatever reason, was the one attached to the guy I was dating. He may have even been the first bracelet...which might explain what came next. When I melted the ends of the bracelet, the nylon, probably molten hot, fell back against his skin and sort of embedded itself. He pulled the burning bracelet away from his skin...and the skin came with it. There was the smell of burning skin and nylon. It left a nasty, nasty burn mark. That is why I think that must have been the first one...we were much more careful after that.

I still can't remember what triggered that memory this morning. Funny. There isn't a soul from that group anymore that I am still in contact with. Nobody to share the memory with. Sad.

Coloring life

When my sons were small we would often sit at the table and color. My oldest son frequently told me that I was doing it wrong. When asked, why? He would patiently explain to me that everybody knew the sky was blue, so I couldn't color the sky purple...or green...or orange. Pink grass! Oh my! How scandalous! I explained it was my coloring book and I could make things any color that I wanted. He would just shake his head and go back to his perfectly ordered world where everything was, just the way it was expected to be.

I am a firm believer that life should not be so orderly, so predictable. I can't change the color of the sky but I don't have to live life in a paint by number world.

Life is more like finger painting. A tentative first dip of a finger into a color, leading to handfuls of color, then more colors...all swirling together to create something unique and beautiful...one of a kind. Life should be your's, your design, by your hand, not something set up by the rules of others. Why must I stay within the lines? Or even on the paper? Why must I be limited? The sky is the limit...even if it must be blue.

In the eye of the beholder

I was asked again, what color is your hair? Which color, I ask? I've also been asked if the color was natural. Again, I ask, which color? Though, really, none of them are. It has been referred to as, "the technicolor hair"...I think that to be a bit of an exaggeration. I just work in a very vanilla atmosphere. I had a dream recently that my work said I had to dye it all one color, so I dyed it purple. It is a bit of work, mainly I just have to sit there...for two hours, every five weeks. I guess it is my highest maintenance. But that's ok I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. I like my hair. It's distinctive.

Danger Will Robinson

If you don't get that reference, you are probably too young to be reading my thoughts. You may want to step away. Why danger? I am on emotional/stress overload. I think I have indeed found the straw. This is not new, just renewed. I reach a point where my ability to cope is overwhelmed by a flood of issues and emotions. This is the point where, before, I sat down and cried. I'm trying to get out of that. Problem is my other alternative stress relievers aren't working out so good...or are illegal. No not drugs. More like the desire to beat on someone...thing. I do not have a healthy outlet for my aggression. Wait, wrong. I don't currently have an outlet. LARP battle is a great way to expend that energy, but that is still a few months away. I wish I could move some of the other stuff a few months away. It's all coming like an avalanche down a mountain. Quick run down: facing losing my job---I have a few months, job interview tomorrow---I find this utterly anxiety producing, going out of the country---endless planning, because, well, it's all MY responsibility, worried the trip is going to disintegrate in front of my very eyes because of a friend's sudden and very unexpected personal issue---worried about said friend and family, and I keep reminding myself not to get so tied up in planning, interviewing and worrying, that I forget Valentine's Day, both of my son's birthdays and my wedding anniversary---all of which fall within the next 19 days. Jeez, I guess there should have been a period in there somewhere. God no! Punctuation, period. Take a deep breath. Time to make a list...and take a Xanax. If I write down the "to do's" I won't have to keep recirculating them worrying I will forget. The Xanax just makes it so I don't care...as much. Who am I kidding, that is why I have Xanax, I don't take it. Maybe I should invest in kick boxing classes. Like I could afford to break...me.

People come in all types

I work in a hospital. I see a random cross-section of humanity on a daily basis. People are kind, mean, loud, quiet, shy, boisterous, honest, liars, etc. etc. etc. Some people have reasons for their behavior. Some people have behavior without reason. I laugh. I fight tears. I hold hands. I encourage. I enlighten and educate. And sometimes I give a big wake up call and sometimes I get a dose of reality. Nothing will make you feel more alive, more fortunate, than seeing someone in a coma. Nothing will lighten your heart more than seeing true gratitude in the face of another. I experienced one of those moments this week. A very simple thing. I said, thank you, in sign language to a deaf man. His eyes widened, a smile played across his face, and he signed, thank you, back. I signed, you're welcome, smiled, and waved bye. My sign language is, less than, rudimentary. But sometimes it is the simplest of things that make a difference.

Not a death sentence

The bad news came today...in a FedEx envelope.

So thin.

It is not the end of the world. Just the end of this chapter. And what a thin chapter it is.

It is not the first time I have pulled myself up and dusted myself off. May not even be the last.

I am an optimist. Something good will come from this.