I’ve been thinking about a great many
things lately. Life and happiness. Love and hate. So many things.
There are days that I love coming to
work and days that I loathe it. There are days that I love getting out of bed
and days that I loathe it. Just like everyone else.
Like everyone else there are days when
nothing makes me happy and there are days that everything makes me happy.
People probably think that I’m a little insane. I’m not. I’m just normal.
My entire life I’ve always felt like I
was a little different. That I was—not a slave—but not really a part of the
family. There were times when I was with my family when I felt like I didn’t
belong. I still feel that way. Ever since grandma has passed away it’s gotten
worse.
No one talks to anyone unless they
need something. We all knew that grandma was the glue that held us together,
but we those of us that were closer to each other than others were sure that it
wouldn’t happen to us, but it has. Maybe we weren’t as close as we thought.
I’m not faulting anyone in particular,
the connection goes both ways, and to be fair I don’t keep in contact with a
lot of friends either. I’ve always been bad about that. Even in this age with
instant communication and cell phones and texts—I just don’t communicate.
I don’t know if it’s because of my mother
coming and going in my life or my father for being who and what he is. I don’t
know if it’s because from the time I entered elementary school (kindergarten)
up until I graduated from high school and being teased everyday I went to
school. Sometimes from the time I got onto the bus in the morning until I got
off the bus in the afternoon.
I can remember kids from when I was in
the 6th or 7th grade and I’d gotten this haircut/style
that basically gave me a halo of red hair. They kept throwing spitballs in my
hair. Or when I was a sophomore in high school and the kids would throw dough
or other food things at me in cooking class. In 7th or 8th
grade when they complained that I smelled bad and I was forced to take a shower
at school in the middle of the day and have to change clothes.
I’m not sure why I am the way that I am
except that its just who I am. I’m thinking that its my way of coping and my
way of surviving. If that makes any sense. I’ve never been a fighter. It’s true
that at home I could be a handful and willful, not denying that. It was outside
of the home where I was different. Careful of that I did and tried to make sure
that I never offended anyone—though it seems like I did that often. Or maybe
its like grandma used to say—they were just jealous of me. Or maybe its because
I made them think of something they didn’t want to be thinking about. I’m not
sure.
I can tell you that being me in school
wasn’t fun. Now there were times when the teasing would stop—someone had to
make them stop—but it would start back up a week or two later. I don’t know how
they were made to stop, but they did.
I seemed to make friends easily enough,
but it seems to be that in keeping them that I’m having a hard time doing. Don’t
get me wrong, I do have friends and friends that I’ve had for awhile, but there
are people who apparently after a certain about a time, I’ve just rubbed the
wrong way. I don’t get it.
Of course, some of my friends as I’ve
gotten older have been writers—amateur writers or not they’re still writers—and
they do seem to be pretty fickle. *shrugs* Who knows? I just wish I knew what I
did to offend people sometimes. That way I couldn’t do it or wouldn’t do it
again. You know what I mean?
I like people and like I making
friends even though I don’t like going out and I don’t like talking on the
phone or via email or text or message sometimes—I know that friendships, like
relationships take work, but I don’t want to be the only one doing the work. If
I’ve called several times and they don’t seem like they want to talk or even
emailed or texted and they don’t seem like they want to talk or anything like
that, what am I supposed to think?
