Another Lesson.
So we had three showings last week. The first one came while I was writing that last post and that is why it's untitled. Not for some mysterious and insightful reason, 'It is untitled...because my feelings can not have labels'.
No it's untitled because the real estate company called and said, "An agent and her client are in front of your house, can they come in?"
Thankfully I've gotten into the habit of making all the beds and showering first thing in the morning instead of writing all morning in my pajamas showering just to take Max to school. Though about half the time I throw on workout clothes so that I look like I'm always ".....on the go....." I'm on the go if 'on the go' means sitting in my basement painting all the fucking time.
We got out of the house with all our breakfast dishes and also a cocktail shaker from the night before. And a chef's knife I hadn't washed yet. I wish we'd been in an accident because all these items would have been of great concern to rescue workers.
The agent let my agent know that the house is beautiful and her client was excited until he got to the basement. You recall the Bend Over Bar? I've done a lot of work in the basement since that time and it is actually much nicer with organized storage and even a gift wrapping cabinet....yes. But it's still a space with less than average head room, and this client was 6'5". I started to tell the realtor about the Bend Over Bar, maybe her client is gay? But then let it go.
Speaking of school. I've said over and over to always write as if the person you don't want to read it will read it. When I wrote this post, I'm not sure why I wanted the people I was referring to to know they'd hurt my feelings when it was so clearly a tiny blip in the universe and also so clearly a direct result of the fear in my head that the world knew I was from a whole lot of crazy.
It's true, sometimes I use my blog to explain things to people I am not entirely fond of. Sometimes I use it to express my true disdain for them. It's true this behavior makes me far from 'nice' but it's also based on some very real and intense hurts from the past and so I don't feel all that badly about that type of thing. Most of the time when I write about someone in unflattering terms I try to leave out identifying details so that I'm not spreading gossip, just sharing my part of the story. Except for the Creepy Long Haired Swinger and I want him to read this site because then maybe he'll leave me alone (actually, in fairness he has been leaving me alone).
I didn't think through the fact that when writing from the viewpoint I had as a 20 year old girl and revealing the identities of the people I was talking about, I was spreading gossip (something I hate more than painting my kitchen cabinets) and also leaving people with an unfair view of these two girls.
Which would have been fine if no one they know were reading my site but it turns out there are a few mothers from the school who read this site. And someone put together my bitchily rhymed names for these girls I had trouble with 13 years ago with a mom from our kid's class and let her know she should read my blog.
And she did and on Thursday night she emailed me to let me know and I explained and apologized and told her how stupid I was. That I could have easily told that exact story without being a bitch and leaving in identifying details. She said she did not remember that incident and also had no idea what had happened to my father and how I'd flailed about in high school. We talked further and she felt kicked in the gut and also a little silly having the mothers from the class corner her to tell her about this. And I'll bet she also felt a little ridiculous having all these women reading a story so clearly about her when she had no idea.
We've talked and she's been incredibly gracious and more kind than she needs to be. She said, "Let's just move on. Don't apologize anymore. You don't need to apologize."
Which I'm trying to do because that's the most gracious anyone's ever been to me in the face of my bitchiness. Well except my friend Andrea and also Logan. And maybe my sister.
But all weekend I worked in the basement painting cabinet doors. It's funny how your kitchen can have so little storage but SO MANY FUCKING DOORS. As I painted I kept churning the whole situation around in my head. I often do this while I scrub the kitchen floor but the house is already so clean I didn't bother.
The fact that these girls had no idea what I'd been through during high school and yet I felt it was so obvious to everyone. I believed everyone knew and had labeled me 'weird'. I thought about how I make myself feel like the star of my own show and believe everyone is constantly watching and judging me. Like when I almost hurled myself off a sailboat and was then so incredibly embarassed and my friend Jean said, "No one thought a thing about it."
The truth is, when you peel back all the layers of popularity and wealth and all of that stuff that is always a part of high school. The truth is I had no friends not because my father killed himself and I was actually happy about that. I had no friends because I was shy and more awkward than I am now. (I know! Not possible! But it is.) I had no friends because I was afraid people would see I wasn't like them.
I had no friends because I was really deeply sad.
The way I felt about that argument that summer at day camp was so much less about what anyone said or did. It was all about how I was seeing it because I believed everyone knew I wasn't like them.
Something else made my stomach churn all weekend. Why would I be such a bitch? Why did I even want these two girls to see what I wrote. I even said it in my original post, "I'm rhyming their names so they won't find it Googling their names. But if they come across it they'll know it was them."
I read it again after hearing from the mom from school and was stunned. Why did I do that?
As I painted yesterday all day and into the night I practiced saying this to myself.
"Sometimes you are a bitch."
That is a really hard thing for me to say because I don't want to be a bitch. I want to be honest with myself. I want to be up front with the people I dislike or who are offensive to me. I want to learn from my past mistakes and remove myself from relationships or situations which make me bitchy.
And still, sometimes I am still just a bitch.









