I really have to go :: Flash Writing

Things are shifting inside of me, feelings moving to one side, or another, and some things I think I'm just letting go of. I swore that this would be a year of change for me. I said it like a mantra, like a wish, like a promise to myself. It was different than a resolution, bigger, more true, because I kept it to myself, tucking it away. I may have said it now andagain, but the words were kept vague, grey-tinted, blurry. I did not even know myself what all the changes would be. I didn't want to know. I did not want to make lists that might sit there as a reminder, as expectation, as disappointment. No, I wanted it to be more natural than that. I wanted to see what change could be, what change might come.

I never took that trip

My Grandfather was a gypsy. Well, not really, he was actually a welder, born in Mexico City, though he would spend his life denying it due to the bigotry and racism he encountered being from “across the border” and living in Los Angeles in the 40’s. He told everyone he was born in Spain, that he was European, and he married the girl who was first generation American, her family European immigrants, coming from Denmark and Germany. My Grandfather had an infectious laugh, a love of big band music and mariachis, and of the long and winding road. He would drive anywhere, all you had to say is “let’s go”, and he managed to make any holiday an excuse to pack up the van, or later the RV, and discover someplace new.

You start all over again

When I was a young girl I collected Barbies, and other trademarked dolls, usually representing a movie or television character, like Princess Leia, all three Charlie’s Angels, or Cher. I had boxes of clothing for them, a bright pink jeep and a lemon yellow motor home, and the ultimate “dream house” which had cut out holes in the roof for my hands to reach in, but no stairs or doors to any of the rooms. I had a few “men“, too, Ken with his “real” looking hair and smooth “boy mound“, and Han Solo who had painted on hair, and the outlines of a muscular frame, but still no “boy parts“.

Who suspect they could never love anyone

Perhaps I should have been a therapist. I have always been able to read people quickly, a skill that came from being the shyest one in the room as a child and adolescent, and also, I think, from seeing so much darkness as a child in people, seeing what they were capable of. I also know that it was honed even further in my late teens and early twenties both from my acting classes and from successfully hiding a drug habit. Trust me, learn to lie well and you will know how to read people well. Perhaps that would not go down in the books of advice oh "how o get along with others", but those are the things that made me as intuitive with others as I am.