I've got a growth on my eyebrow. It hurts when I touch it. I should look it up, incase it's dangerous. Just to stay on top of things. It's good to stay on top of things.
Maybe it's not a growth. Maybe it's from the VR headset that I wore yesterday for a paid study. My neck hurts, and my shoulders. The headset was much heavier than I thought it would be. But I managed to keep my head level. At first I didn't think I was going to be able to, that I would embarrass myself. But I did it. I held my head level. And I followed all of the researcher's directions. I did good, I think with pride. Because I followed directions. If nothing else, I can listen and I can follow directions. I've prided myself on that, because if nothing else.
Not everyone can, you know, follow directions. I learned this when I was working in Juvenile Detention. And I prided myself on my ability to, because if nothing else, I could be useful. All I’ve ever wanted out of life is to be useful. If nothing else. At 37, it no longer feels like enough.
I went grocery shopping late at night. While in line with way more things than I should be buying, I let a couple of guys go before me. They each only had one item. There was a lady in front of me with some bags in her cart and three random items. She got out of line.
The cashier inquires, can I ask you a question?
Yes.
Can you go look for that lady with the bags in her cart outside, and tell her to come here?
Oh, that crazy-looking lady?
The young cashier giggles. The guy behind me snorts. I feel good. I said what everyone was thinking, for sure, and I made them laugh. I've still got my charm.
I go outside and I can't find her. I see the cashier and I tell her so. She's gone.
I just wanted to ask her a question, she says as she works the line by herself. I wanted to know why she's not up here.
Oh, she works here?
Yeah.
She works there. I didn't say something funny or clever. I'm not a cool girl, who you think you might want to be friends with. I'm not even a girl, I'm a lady. I'M the crazy lady.
"Ma'am" is a difficult word for me. When I was younger, it was said to me a couple of times and I smirked. I wasn't old enough to be a ma'm. In my twenties I looked young for my age, in my early thirties, I was mistaken for 25. I liked it, but I never thought too much about it. I should have thought more about it. If nothing else.
I never knew it would be so hard.
"Ma'm" is a woman or lady. She's not a girl, or a chick, she's older. Maybe not OLD old, but she's old. She's instantly dismissed, and always out of touch. She's called "ma'am" as a curtesy, as to not offend her, by girls and boys, and men and women alike. She's not someone you would ask about music advice, or where the cool spots are in town. She's just some lady. I'M just some lady.
It's hard not to think back on all the wasted years. If I could only go back to being a pretentious twenty-two year old fuck, I could do it all over again differently. The thoughts are painful, and so bittersweet. There's no going back. And besides, the daydreams fade when I remember that I'm lazy, and that I sure really did love poison. It would be like a B-List version of 'Groundhog's Day' with a MUCH much lower budget, and horrible acting. And the main character would be perpetually drunk or hung-over. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.
I should have enjoyed it more, being young.
If nothing else.
Maybe it's not a growth. Maybe it's from the VR headset that I wore yesterday for a paid study. My neck hurts, and my shoulders. The headset was much heavier than I thought it would be. But I managed to keep my head level. At first I didn't think I was going to be able to, that I would embarrass myself. But I did it. I held my head level. And I followed all of the researcher's directions. I did good, I think with pride. Because I followed directions. If nothing else, I can listen and I can follow directions. I've prided myself on that, because if nothing else.
Not everyone can, you know, follow directions. I learned this when I was working in Juvenile Detention. And I prided myself on my ability to, because if nothing else, I could be useful. All I’ve ever wanted out of life is to be useful. If nothing else. At 37, it no longer feels like enough.
I went grocery shopping late at night. While in line with way more things than I should be buying, I let a couple of guys go before me. They each only had one item. There was a lady in front of me with some bags in her cart and three random items. She got out of line.
The cashier inquires, can I ask you a question?
Yes.
Can you go look for that lady with the bags in her cart outside, and tell her to come here?
Oh, that crazy-looking lady?
The young cashier giggles. The guy behind me snorts. I feel good. I said what everyone was thinking, for sure, and I made them laugh. I've still got my charm.
I go outside and I can't find her. I see the cashier and I tell her so. She's gone.
I just wanted to ask her a question, she says as she works the line by herself. I wanted to know why she's not up here.
Oh, she works here?
Yeah.
She works there. I didn't say something funny or clever. I'm not a cool girl, who you think you might want to be friends with. I'm not even a girl, I'm a lady. I'M the crazy lady.
"Ma'am" is a difficult word for me. When I was younger, it was said to me a couple of times and I smirked. I wasn't old enough to be a ma'm. In my twenties I looked young for my age, in my early thirties, I was mistaken for 25. I liked it, but I never thought too much about it. I should have thought more about it. If nothing else.
I never knew it would be so hard.
"Ma'm" is a woman or lady. She's not a girl, or a chick, she's older. Maybe not OLD old, but she's old. She's instantly dismissed, and always out of touch. She's called "ma'am" as a curtesy, as to not offend her, by girls and boys, and men and women alike. She's not someone you would ask about music advice, or where the cool spots are in town. She's just some lady. I'M just some lady.
It's hard not to think back on all the wasted years. If I could only go back to being a pretentious twenty-two year old fuck, I could do it all over again differently. The thoughts are painful, and so bittersweet. There's no going back. And besides, the daydreams fade when I remember that I'm lazy, and that I sure really did love poison. It would be like a B-List version of 'Groundhog's Day' with a MUCH much lower budget, and horrible acting. And the main character would be perpetually drunk or hung-over. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.
I should have enjoyed it more, being young.
If nothing else.
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