Proud Little Monkey

I was reminded of someone I once knew yesterday. Or perhaps that should read, someone slapped me with the truth of what I used to be, compared to the person I've become. Now, usually when you slap the beaten, they recoil, but this slap was like a hug. Refreshing, inspiring. I needed it.

I'd like to believe there is a natural evolution of character in a soul, a maturity of sorts. It should be, that the person one becomes at any age, is different from the one they were 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 15 years ago.........but enhanced, better if I may. A smart person would build off the best pieces of their interior and proudly carry those qualities into their future self. Protect those traits, shape them, paint them into new light. It should happen that way, and in some people, the ones I admire, I witness that beautiful truth.

But what if, the person you were those years ago, was the better person? That the person one became as they aged, turns out to be the absence of character. The shell of what was. A piece of flesh swirling in a void of silence and cowering trepidation. What if, that person has become the one who smiles into a crowd and glares at herself in the mirror. Can she go back. Would she seek out the aspects of her that she once proudly roared at the world.

The old frisky fighter in me says, yes, everything is possible, anything is opportunity and with a flick of reaction, change becomes movement. That woman would have kicked any ones ass if they tried to get in her way and wouldn't have apologized for it. But, the absence of character in me, protests, slumps her shoulders and reminds the desperado she made her bed and must sleep in the stale sheets. It's a clash of little young David and the big fat squatting Goliath. Two mentalities always at odds, throwing stones and delivering sucker punches.

When I look back over the minutes, the months, the years and try to pinpoint how in the fuck I allowed almost every admirable trait about me to be washed away, I see it play out like any chapter book. She started life on the Mercy streets, but as I continue to read, page by page, I witness the main character make terrible choices, accept the unacceptable. I hold my breath and turn the page knowing damn well that if she succumbs to this, or that, dire results will befall our girl. As the reader I can see what the villain on the page is thinking, manipulating, but in hindsight I'm powerless to knock some sense into her. I watch her go down dangerous paths, the wicked streets and observe the fight in her become weaker, and accepting of all the things that hit below the chin. Because I am the reader today, I know what she's thinking, the fraudulent image she's portrayed to those around her. The smiles hiding a truth she is too embarrassed to admit. Such a silly girl.

For me, admission is an obstacle of gigantic proportion. If there is one trait I've never lost, it's the tenacity to be absurdly protective of the things that are wrong in me or my life. Admission feels like the ultimate betrayal of an optimistic desire to fix everything on my own accord. A control freak stripped of effective power? That's a delightful oxymoron to admit. A pathetic fall from grace.

So what do I do. Today. Tomorrow. I can't retract the past, but I know I can do something about my future. I've placed a call for self help, in it's purest form. In the absence of Character I have a lot of space to remodel, redesign. The old self in me feels a bit rowdy and wants to walk across the room and take one on the chin for old times sake. If such behavior inspires a flicker of light through closed windows, then I'm ready and seeking the action that inspires the climatic turn of events in her book.

I really do miss her.........

~~~~

I hope the people who come to these pages, or discovered this hole of mine, understand this zone.

It's entirely
Self indulgent.
Self exposing.
Self help.
Self decapitating.
Self pity.
Self assuring.
Self embracing.
Self proclaiming.

Selfish.

Self.

Curiosity Killed The........

There are very few things in the landscape of Rebecca that can scare the shit out of me, or make my heart lodge uncomfortably in my throat, or give me goosebumps or even make me wish I could stop time. When such moments happen, it's usually because I've done something I knew I shouldn't. It's like peeking into a pre-wrapped package before Christmas when I know damn well I shouldn't and discovering the contents inside are nothing what I wanted. Once you've peeked, you can't take the image back, you can't remove the reality of it and place it back into the comfortable unknown files in ones mind.

I can usually squelch the cat in me. I've perfected the art of self denial. There are some things in life that unknowing ignorance, is a chosen choice of blind bliss. Sneaking a peek behind the veil of unknown can produce interesting results, sometimes, but usually, it's the catalyst that kills that cat. I'm a sad little kitty cat today.

I'm not exactly a foolish little feline. I know any tentative step in certain directions can leave me resting solidly on feet, or hanging from my tree of life by a single claw. I know that. Understand that. Choke on it. And most important of all, accept it as my punishment. A fair weathered perception I am not.

With this wrapped box, I know I'm overly sensitive, prone to flinch at the slightest gesture, the most marginal of suggestion. I'm aware of the delicate nature and balance that barely teeters upon a tiny glimmer of hope and future. I know all that, and yet, I miss. It's that simple........

Today, my minutes shall drag. Blocked. Denied and Hopeful I got around the system. Perhaps maybe, even, possibly, my sensitivity is unwarranted, for once.
Either way, tomorrow, my perspective will have officially shifted, once again, in a way that no one on Earth would ever see, or notice, or feel............

Intent

I did something that borderlines wicked yesterday. I've been feeling around the edges of my interior since then, testing for regret or disappointment in my behavior, but have yet to discover a loose thread. I think at this point in time I can rest easy that I'd do it again.

Shopping, the one aspect of this season I don't enjoy. I haven't been in the mood for it, but I coerced myself into entering a god forsaken shopping center yesterday. People are the most interesting part of shopping, usually, and if anything, I can usually leave a place of purchase with my mind filled with mental notes to jot down later.

But yesterday. I could hear this woman, over and over like a loud speaker in my ears that I couldn't turn down, or shut off, or even escape. She was screeching at her two tiny children in a tone that grated over my skin like course sandpaper. I would intentionally get 5 lanes away and still couldn't escape the tone of her voice, the shrill of her temper and the detestable words she seethed at her kids.

I am one that is all for discipline in children. No matter the place, no matter the time. I've always held far more respect for the Mother who corrects their child despite possible embarrassment in public then the Mother who turns a blind eye. But this woman........she was disgusting. Telling her little ones to shut up because they were both whining, over and over.....One was hungry, the other needed to go to the bathroom.

"Shut up you little shit" "Shut up or I won't feed you till tomorrow" "Say another word and you can pee your pants" "Shut up or no Santa for you this year." " Say another word and I swear you'll be sorry" smacking their legs.......smacking their hands.......tears streaming down their faces......her nasty ass swaying up and down the lane filled with Christmas ornaments.

She made my stomach roll.

So I followed them, to the check out line. The only space between her and I was the two feet I allowed. I looked over her into the sad little eye's of one of her boys and held his attention with my silent inquiry. He bit his lower lip with his top teeth. Quivering, his whole body resisting the attempt to sob another inspiration for her threats. I could see her squeezing the other ones knee in what I'll assume was another non-verbal threat. His little hands were trying to push hers away.

I winked at the boy who was looking at me, gave him a soft smile and tapped his Mother on the shoulder. She whirled around, looked up at me with a what the fuck do you want look and I spoke just as loud as she had been doing her humiliate her boys.

I said something to this effect. "What don't you stop telling your boys to shut up and listen to what they've been trying to tell you for the last 15 minutes."

To which she said, "Shut up and mind your own business"

To which I replied," Oh, that's the best you can say to me, your boys, Shut up. Well in my world telling someone to shut up is like saying fuck you, I can handle that, but you should know, saying that to your children is disgusting, demoralizing and something you'll have to atone for as their Mother for the rest of your life.

Silence and glare.

To which I replied, "Your welcome for the reality check and Merry Christmas"

And she turned around, and I stood my ground and let her sweat it out through the cashier. The air around us was on fire.

I'd like to have smacked her around a bit. Squeezed her shoulder till she couldn't contain her tears. I'd like to have done many things to her, but society law prevents such eye for an eye justice.

She left the line and proceeded straight to the bathroom. Thankfully.

I'll never know if my saying something rained a terror of hell down on those boys as soon as they got to the car. Or if my words sparked something else within that woman. But there's no way she will forget anytime soon the tall lady with eye's like ice who twisted the table on her and shoved a little humiliation up her nose for a minute of her day. I stand by my intervention.

*********

All******** is the result of a three day later edit******
There are days when the reality of my choices snake through the pit of my stomach.

My decisions seep through my blood like a disease and clouds my vision with parallel truth.

The weight of my chosen consequence buckles my knees and I find myself flat on my back surrounded by Lavender Black.

If only, to my core, I had understood the gravity of the time sentence I nailed myself to the cross for......in the name of self sacrifice and doing the right thing. The white stupidity of choice based on **** destiny. *******************************. ********* know. ******** know. I can't regret that. I won't.

And the ******, touched by my choices...the additional deciding factors. Some days, I'd like to slam my fist in their faces so they could feel what I feel, so they knew what I suffer, so they felt in their core what I placed aside for them. Their comforts. Their convenience. Here, I fall into selfish mentality, I want them to appreciate, to understand, to realize. To see.

No one can know the scope of my truths. That liability must remain mine and mine alone. That's the problem with ****** ****** and self imposed solitary confinement of the mind. I choose to enact a ******* life in the name of time and growth. Save the last dance. Wait. I was the one of less character, weak in the space of *****. I did this. I negotiated this painful tick of the tock. Fucking Patron Saint of the Clandestine Heart. I'll never succumb to ******, but perform the task of swallow in and spit out my penance.

For my ****, still walks hand in hand, with my *****. That hope and truth has become tangled with **** and ******, for now. A possibility that could dissolve by divine ******. What a horrid truth to gamble against.

This *** entry is a liability of *** *****.
And today I don't give a shit.
***and today I do*****