Wednesday, May 19, 2010

From Coughing-ville with Love

So I'm sick now. Yeppers. Prom's on Friday. Feeling really unhappy.

I went to the doctor yesterday...with my dad. Those of you out there who have dads understand me when I say that THIS WAS AWKWARD. I mean, seriously, who wants their upper-thirties, yuppy, Mary Kay lipglossed, youngish doctor asking about "your last menstrual cycle" with daddy-o in the room? Yep, not me folks. Anyway, I knew there were going to be "issues" before we even got there, as he was singing the doctor's last name at the top of his lungs. Let's just say she has a funny last name that sounds like "Phooey"...and he kept singing "Hey Dr. ........., how do you dooey?" I find that grown men find these precious nuggets of time where they can connect with their juvenile boyhood roots, where fart noises are not only accepted but encouraged, and making up songs about health care professionals is totally the norm.

So upon arrival, I was ever the thankful one when papi decided it was best for him to stick to the waiting room. He planted his arse in one of the oversized plastic chairs and smiled at the other people occupying the room, who just happened to be ALL WOMEN. I left him there, hoping he enjoyed whatever was playing on Lifetime overhead.

After having both nostrils, both ears and my mouth searched for any UFOs, I sat on the tissue paper sheet waiting for the brilliant doc. Do you ever notice how boring the posters are in these sort of rooms? The only semi-interesting thing I had to look at was a detailed animation of cervical cancer. If that doesn't have you jumping for joy while contemplating your next visit to your friendly neighborhood doc, I don't know what will!

So she finally breezed in....looking drop-dead stunning. How do these women do it? I mean where do you find time to shower in between checking heart beats and inspecting moles? Anyways, she informs me that "it looks like allergies" and hands me a Nasonex (for those of you living in caves, Nasonex is a saline nasal spray that burns like the dickins and smells like the sea). She tells me to keep taking my ALLERGY medication and get plenty of fluid/rest/whateverotherBSI'vehearda1,000timesbefore. ARE YOU KIDDING ME LADY? I SCHLEPPED ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE WITH MY UNWASHED HAIR AND MY MINI PACK OF KLEENEXES FOR A MINI BOTTLE OF NOSE WASH? I was certain I had broncitus. (I know I spelled that wrong, sue me). I WAS EXPECTING ANTI-BIOTICS. But no. Let's just spray our nostrils twice in each and call it a day. Gee thanks.

However, it did get me outta my Pre-calc lecture, which is miracle enough for me.

Please pray that I sound less-than-toadish for prom on Friday. I'm pretty sure I'm going no matter what, but it would be nice to not have green goo rattling around in my chest.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Tuesday we had a rainstorm

Every day we fight
Every day I listen to her grow loud loUD LOUD and stare at blue veins pulsingpulsing with crimson and wonder if she loves them, truly, while the same words she uses when she's yelling get mixed up in the volume.
She cares so much about the envelopes that my graduation declarations go into.
Takes care to pick out the pretty stamps.
Makes special return-to-sender stickers.
Stuffs those envelopes with love.

And in the unhurried way her arm moves, the actually patient-for-once! trill of her fingers makes me remember that there are times when she's absorbed in the beautiful part of me living here.

Of me still being here, still disappointing, still being so very different than she was when she was my age.

And her still loving me anyway. Still taking time to gaze in my eyes longingly. The eyes that she fell in love with, that came through her and into me.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

I've yet to call myself a senior.

...And in these LAST FOUR WEEKS there will be much new.

Prom with a wonderful date who actually called my phone and asked like a gentleman.
Graduation with a real cap and gown that I have already that I scowl at because I'm a year younger and the hat is just a reminder with its shiny '10 hanging off the tassel...I had prepared myself for an '11
A big choice still undecided....a MAJOR choice...with so many of these in an academic catalog of a school that wasn't my first choice but of which I will be attending because of a beautiful, wonderful, miraculous scholarship which I MIGHT LOSE IF I FAIL PRE-CALC...again.
And lots of dresses.
A white one for this school's graduation
A blue one for my home high school's graduation
A purple one for prom
A teal one for a wedding in July
A black one for my cousin's July

And yet...I don't feel busy.
I feel like I'm playing a role...this "grad" role was never me. "No, I don't want a class ring. No, I won't feel like I'm missing out on something if I don't have one. No, mom, I don't think I want one." I have a ring. It has scalloped sterling surrounding an oval of turquoise and I bought it cheap at an antique store that sells expensive things. When I wear it, I feel like a mature and creative woman who lives in Arizona somewhere with her Collie and cherry red pick-up truck...

And I like that. I like that it has character. I like that it had a life before me...that it was worn or maybe stuffed in an underwear drawer amidst a dried rose still alive with romance from a 12th anniversary...or something like that.

I don't like these unoriginal celebrations. All in robes and square hats...might as well be a KKK gathering in my opinion. Why can't we wear hats we choose ourselves? I'd wear my vintage light pink with the faded silk flowers.

I'm ready to be a part of something. Since I don't really fit in here well, I see the hats as silly, the diploma as unnecessary, "The class of 2010...blah, blah, blah..." And I know it would be different if I was sadder about leaving. If I wasn't excited about the possibility..immense finally follow my passion. If I wasn't stoked about this probable change. This new-winged bird, ready to fly.