On New Year's Eve, I had a conversation that made me think (you don't say? YOU think, AnoMALIE?).
I wound up talking to one of Darcy's friends, who unbeknownst to me, I had known since middle school ("unbeknownst" because I SORT OF knew him... I knew OF him. Here's the tangent: Back in middle school, while we shared our "field" with an actual park [we did the same with our pool] we were never allowed to play in it except for P.E. purposes. Now, we were kids in the hood... if we're not playing sports during our free-time, we're going to be fighting or fucking... it's just the order of things. WHY they never let us play on the fucking field is beyond me-- it's like they wanted us to fight in the cafeteria over petty shit like someone sticking her finger in your brownie [speaking from personal experience here, and no, this is NOT a euphemism of any kind. I'm being literal] or the dumb bitch in front of you ordering the last pizza slice after hearing you were fucking starved and finally had enough money to order that goddamn slice of pizza [once again, personal experience]... or that time some dumb broad leaked her disgusting burrito all over your brand new grey sweatshirt [if that doesn't warrant an ass kicking at the foot of some stairs, I don't know what does]. ANYWAY, the people who didn't want to participate in the weekly cafeteria brawl would go outside and play football on the blacktop... that was until one day, when that activity suddenly came to an end because of a serious injury. Some kid had managed to "bust his face" on a pole during a football game... and thus ended the blacktop football. This kid was pretty notorious amongst... everyone. Fuck that kid, man! Just because his clumsy ass fucked himself up doesn't mean we should all be punished! Hmmm... you say the kid ran into a pole... just HIM, no one pushed him into it or anything... and now no one can play football? I want to meet this kid. HAHAHAHA! The kid hurt HIMSELF?! It was a running joke once the anger died down. Watch out, man, don't want to hurt yourself on that pole or anything... Shit of that nature. Anyway, turns out the poor kid who "busted his face on a pole" that fateful day was this guy, Darcy's friend. Turns out he accidentally ran into a pole and split his eyebrow open... hence the "busted his face" comments. His confession made me laugh for a good couple of minutes... and each time I'd look at him, I had to smile because the middle school memories would bombard me. YOU were the Blacktop Football POLE kid?! OH MY GOD! Even my MOM knows about you! I did try to ease the pain of the memory, informing him of an even worse scenario that took place the year after he left middle school: At least you weren't the kid who ruined vending machines for us after he tried grabbing his can of soda that was stuck... only to be bitten by a rat. Kid had to get rabies shots AND the following day we no longer had vending machines. Later we were all informed over the intercom to "refrain from petting wild animals. Rats WILL bite. Don't try to pet the rats. Leave the rats alone." Who the FUCK tries to pet a rat? That kid who tried rescuing his can of soda. Sucked to be that kid).
We talked about how glad we were to see 2011 go... because it had been a complete asshole to us.
He told me why his 2011 had sucked so much balls, and I immediately felt like an asshole. HIS 2011 was terrible. Mine? Mine were just whiny bitch problems.
When he asked me why mine was so terrible, I froze up and just said "Lame shit... lame emotional shit."
That question followed me home.
WHY was my 2011 so fucking shitty?
Well, my only answer to that is: I suffered a nasty identity crisis. Period.
An upheaval in my "career", my physical aspect, and even my faith.
I was rocked hard.
For a chick who doesn't really like change, it was just a liiiittle too much to handle.
But that's it. An identity crisis.
People can recover from that shit... right?
I'm trying, so that should count for something.
I'm trying to be a better person, instead of recoiling into a completely insufferable shithead.
So far, it's working. I'm being kind... I'm learning to take compliments... and I'm definitely smiling a lot more. (And my only shit-talking is done here... or Twitter when I just can't help myself and feel like I might explode if I stay quiet)
I'm also trying REALLY REALLY REALLY fucking hard not to dwell on shit. Seriously. It's SO fucking hard... but I'm noticing it's slowly becoming part of my life.
SO. Looks like I'm slowly but surely finding a new, much nicer identity... going back to my carefree toddler days.
It's a good life.
Thanks, Blacktop Football POLE Kid! :)
I wound up talking to one of Darcy's friends, who unbeknownst to me, I had known since middle school ("unbeknownst" because I SORT OF knew him... I knew OF him. Here's the tangent: Back in middle school, while we shared our "field" with an actual park [we did the same with our pool] we were never allowed to play in it except for P.E. purposes. Now, we were kids in the hood... if we're not playing sports during our free-time, we're going to be fighting or fucking... it's just the order of things. WHY they never let us play on the fucking field is beyond me-- it's like they wanted us to fight in the cafeteria over petty shit like someone sticking her finger in your brownie [speaking from personal experience here, and no, this is NOT a euphemism of any kind. I'm being literal] or the dumb bitch in front of you ordering the last pizza slice after hearing you were fucking starved and finally had enough money to order that goddamn slice of pizza [once again, personal experience]... or that time some dumb broad leaked her disgusting burrito all over your brand new grey sweatshirt [if that doesn't warrant an ass kicking at the foot of some stairs, I don't know what does]. ANYWAY, the people who didn't want to participate in the weekly cafeteria brawl would go outside and play football on the blacktop... that was until one day, when that activity suddenly came to an end because of a serious injury. Some kid had managed to "bust his face" on a pole during a football game... and thus ended the blacktop football. This kid was pretty notorious amongst... everyone. Fuck that kid, man! Just because his clumsy ass fucked himself up doesn't mean we should all be punished! Hmmm... you say the kid ran into a pole... just HIM, no one pushed him into it or anything... and now no one can play football? I want to meet this kid. HAHAHAHA! The kid hurt HIMSELF?! It was a running joke once the anger died down. Watch out, man, don't want to hurt yourself on that pole or anything... Shit of that nature. Anyway, turns out the poor kid who "busted his face on a pole" that fateful day was this guy, Darcy's friend. Turns out he accidentally ran into a pole and split his eyebrow open... hence the "busted his face" comments. His confession made me laugh for a good couple of minutes... and each time I'd look at him, I had to smile because the middle school memories would bombard me. YOU were the Blacktop Football POLE kid?! OH MY GOD! Even my MOM knows about you! I did try to ease the pain of the memory, informing him of an even worse scenario that took place the year after he left middle school: At least you weren't the kid who ruined vending machines for us after he tried grabbing his can of soda that was stuck... only to be bitten by a rat. Kid had to get rabies shots AND the following day we no longer had vending machines. Later we were all informed over the intercom to "refrain from petting wild animals. Rats WILL bite. Don't try to pet the rats. Leave the rats alone." Who the FUCK tries to pet a rat? That kid who tried rescuing his can of soda. Sucked to be that kid).
We talked about how glad we were to see 2011 go... because it had been a complete asshole to us.
He told me why his 2011 had sucked so much balls, and I immediately felt like an asshole. HIS 2011 was terrible. Mine? Mine were just whiny bitch problems.
When he asked me why mine was so terrible, I froze up and just said "Lame shit... lame emotional shit."
That question followed me home.
WHY was my 2011 so fucking shitty?
Well, my only answer to that is: I suffered a nasty identity crisis. Period.
An upheaval in my "career", my physical aspect, and even my faith.
I was rocked hard.
For a chick who doesn't really like change, it was just a liiiittle too much to handle.
But that's it. An identity crisis.
People can recover from that shit... right?
I'm trying, so that should count for something.
I'm trying to be a better person, instead of recoiling into a completely insufferable shithead.
So far, it's working. I'm being kind... I'm learning to take compliments... and I'm definitely smiling a lot more. (And my only shit-talking is done here... or Twitter when I just can't help myself and feel like I might explode if I stay quiet)
I'm also trying REALLY REALLY REALLY fucking hard not to dwell on shit. Seriously. It's SO fucking hard... but I'm noticing it's slowly becoming part of my life.
SO. Looks like I'm slowly but surely finding a new, much nicer identity... going back to my carefree toddler days.
It's a good life.
Thanks, Blacktop Football POLE Kid! :)
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