20/20

December 4 Do Over: Hindsight is the one thing we never benefit from in the present.  Is there one moment you wish that you could do-over?

"Are you going to have an intervention for your sister?" my cousin asked.
"NO!" was the definite answer.

I have two little sisters. Did you know?

I talk about one of them, TheFish, all the time.

The other is a more sensitive subject... She's our baby. She went to live with my dad when my parents split fir the last time.

I saw her over the summer for the first time in nearly five years.

Now is the part where I'm supposed to say that I wish I could have a "do over" for that day.
I'm not sure that's entirely true.

The last time I had seen her, five years ago, was the day of my brother's memorial service.  This year I saw her on the day of my grandmother's memorial service.

My regrets aren't about my sister. Maybe they should be.  Maybe I am a terrible person. I don't know.

She's a stranger.  Taller than I remember.  Her voice sounds foreign,  her features unfamiliar.
We awkwardly avoided each other for a day and a half. Then I complimented her shoes. We made uncomfortable small talk for a few scant minutes until our aunt interrupted.

Truth: I didn't feel a connection.

I don't miss her. That probably makes me a terrible person.

Maybe it is because I was mourning my gramma so intensely; because I was dreading TheFish leaving to return to the great rainy North later that afternoon.

That day, the day of my gramma's memorial, is hardly more clear than that of BabyBrother five years before.  I know that I dont regret anything though.  I held my tongue when appropriate.  I told anecdotes about Gramma that she would appreciate. I supported my mother in her grief.

I do have regrets though...
Most of all, I regret not calling Gramma more when she was healthy. I wish I could do-over all of the calls I didn't return right away, the emails I forgot to respond to,  the calls I didnt make, the visits I didn't plan.

I meant to write about Gramma and how much I love her; how she always told me that I was her favorite; the way she treated my small troubles seriously; how she always fed us dessert for dinner.

And all of that is trye.

But I  didn't know how much I needed to acknowledge the strange collision of my grief over Gramma and the lack of emotion over my littlest sister.

The Kindness of Strangers

As I was driving to work on Easter Sunday, a warning light came on my dashboard. 

It looked like (!) and it scared the shit out of me. 

I had all of those crazy spinning thoughts that I get; I considered not going into work; I was convinced my engine was going to blow up. I white-knuckled it all the way to work. In the parking lot I flipped through the  previously- untouched owner's manual in my glove box, but I couldn't find an explanation. I ended up Googling it. 

Tire pressure. I felt like a complete asshole for freaking out.

And then I realized that I had no earthly idea how to put air into my tires. And then I felt like an asshole again. 

This was the kind of thing my father would have once done for me. Or, after that, my brother. The nearby tire store was closed for the holiday. None of my guy friends who would've helped with this were at work. 

I ended up telling the story of freaking out about the light that morning to my co-workers and sheepishly admitted that I had no idea what to do. They laughed at me and said "You grew up fighting and you can't even put air in your tires?". Brawling with my brother doesn't equal life-skills. A mean right hook doesn't make a girl into a tomboy.  

After work one of my female co-workers followed me to the gas station and very patiently taught me to put air in my tires. She was so sweet about it, teasing and helpful, but it made me feel so useless.  

My former boss used to say "They don't even know how much they don't know" or something to that effect.

I hate feeling like that. 

I hate that I don't have life-skills. I hate that I have no idea where to start in acquiring them. I hate that every time I feel like I'm starting to get it together something slaps me down again. 

Staring at the Clock on the Wall

What began as an impromptu overnight trip south quickly went awry. He was irritated about work and criticized me for smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.. I was flushed and wild-eyed from an afternoon of wine tasting and too many Americanos. Traffic was awful. The restaurant had accidentally cancelled our reservation. The hotel clerk called me "Mrs" when we checked into our room.

All of a sudden it was late; we were two hours from home; I was in way over my head. 

I believe that you learn a lot about people from the way they handle unexpected annoyances. He doesn't handle them well. 

We managed to have a good time despite all of the hiccups. I'm always amazed when this happens. I'm not very good at hiding my displeasure. 

That night I lay awake long after he'd fallen asleep. I wanted to turn on the light. I wanted to write. I longed for my laptop, which I'd left behind in my living room. Instead, I lay there and I thought it all out, I wrote in my head. I tapped out fragmented thoughts and half-decisions on my phone. Only one thing seemed concrete.

This isn't how it was supposed to be.

The next day we were supposed to stay and explore, shop, eat, go wine tasting.  I asked him to take me home. We left early and made good time. Traffic was headed the other direction, mostly.

I spent the day with friends. I semi-crashed BestFriend's backyard brunch with her crazy family. Then I drove downtown for a late lunch and shopping with TheTransplant. 

He came over tonight, after all Easter festivities are long finished. Even though I work at 4 o'clock. He said he was determined to "make it up to me", even though I'm not upset. There is nothing to make up.

But, yet again, he sleeps while I write.

That's a line from a Jewel song, you know. Like right now, he sleeps while I write. I sort of detest Jewel's whole whiny-90's thing, but that line has always stuck in my head for some reason.

Future Self

Reverb11
Prompt for December 12: Future Self: Write a letter to your future self, telling the future you about what you hope for you.


My dear Girl, 


We've had a handful of shitty years. 
Let's move on, shall we?
This year we're going to move forward. We're going to stop letting our life be about the people who have hurt us; the wounds; the brokenness.


Put on your grownup clothes, darling. It is time to own it.


Own your life. Grab it all with both hands. Take chances. Stop being afraid of getting hurt.


You'll never get what you want if you don't ask for it. Loudly. 
Let go of all of the bastards weighing you down. You deserve better.


So dance all night. Drink too much. Live with abandon. These are the best years you've got. Stop hiding your light under a bushel. 


2012 will be your chance to be exactly who you want to be. Take it.


Love you, mean it.
xoxo