The "Third-Person" Pieces 3: Death

In college, Holly had a crush on a boy that just recently died of congestive heart failure, and she has taken this harder than expected. It's not like he's the first person she has known to die. On the contrary, her life has been a literal parade of death since her mid 20s. The issue is that Holly has become old enough to understand that 40 isn't old, and is always sad to hear that a young person has gone to glory. There is also something particularly devastating about dying in middle age that she just can't put her finger on. 

Holly secretly believes in parallel and other worlds as well as astral projection. With this being said, she wonders if she could clear her mind then travel to an outer space to ask her deceased college peer what death is like and to reveal any secrets that could help her on Earth. Weird people online that don't comb their hair and wear jingly bracelets say that this is possible. She guesses it would be make more sense to visit her mom or grandma, but they'd be irritated she made the trip. What if she couldn't get back home? 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 2: Nostalgic

Of late, Holly has fallen victim to a nostalgic mind set triggered by a therapeutic mental reliving of her childhood. She guesses that the bad old days seem good when your present is in limbo. She reached out to two friends from elementary school which resulted in two fun, long conversations but no returned texts. She has developed a social media crush on a guy she went to middle school with. She likes to pretend that high school never happened. 

Holly is not one of those people that wastes time wishing she could go back in time; however, she would like it if her past had grown and morphed into a present that wasn't so tragic. 

Holly listens to podcasts where positive people talk about taking charge and making changes in your life. Perhaps Holly would buy into this if change could be more strictly defined. For Holly has been open to change before, actually changed, then the horrors reappeared on time and ready to kick her 10 steps back. What is the point of change if you are just going to end up older in the same bad spot again? Wouldn't an unhappy stagnancy be the less painful choice? The solution would be to keep living to find out. Great. 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 1: Negative?

Holly has been told by an array of people that she is negative, but Holly disagrees. Just yesterday her best friend P told her he thinks she's incapable of real change. Who needs enemies when you've got friends who think you suck? Not Holly! That's for sure! 

If anything, Holly is a card-carrying member of that retired class of people that can tell the sh$t from the sunshine, and she doesn't want to toot her own horn, but she is intellectual enough to know that sometimes there is no difference. This clear- eyed view of life seems to annoy people. This would annoy Holly if she believed you could please everybody. 

Now, with that being said, Holly is somber. Yes, it's true. She often falls victim to a whoa-is-me attitude, but that is only because life is unbearable. Again, not negativity. There are cold hard facts to back this feeling. People die. Children starve. Friends don't return phone calls. Food burns on the stove while you are taking a nap. This is all sound evidence that lead Holly to  continual questions. Why go on? What is to become of her? Will things ever get better? Unfortunately, the honest answers to these questions may be a touch negative, but these answers should not be mistaken with Holly herself. 

The Motherload

Something is going on with the moms in the atmosphere. 

One of my guy friends has gone completely no contact with his mother. Another is trying to get his mom to go to therapy while another friend and his mom are "taking a break" because he is 40 and she treats him like he's ten. I wish this was only a male friend issue, but it ain't. Just the other day, I got some messages from Risky Business. She was upset because an argument over the temperature in her house led her and her mother to "tussle" over a box fan. Huh? 

Dear millennials, have you noticed that we had the sweetest grandmothers while our mothers are nuts? Like loco? What do you think is the meaning of this? Then, on the news, they said the young people behind us, the ones our generation birthed, are a bunch of useless sad sacks that can't do anything outside of play games on their phones! They are needy and wimpy because we as mothers affirmed their emotions. I suppose they will birth and raise a generation of vegetables or serial killers.

My mom has gone on to glory, but we were not without our issues. However, I like to believe if she were alive we'd be fully healed, although this wish does not jive with the tends I'm seeing. Mamas are losing it and their kids are letting them go, too exhausted to deal with it. Therapy, meds, active listening and open communication doesn't seem to be working. I guess we have to do what my grandma would have advised: we just have to pray for them. 🙏

The Return of the Fatty Helper

For a minute, I thought that I had left annoying "fatty helpers" behind in my life. Years ago, there was an old lady who gave out samples at the grocery store. Whenever I would go get a sample, she would tell me that she thought I should audition to be on The Biggest Loser. Apparently, once you got to a certain part in the competition, you were allowed to send for a friend or something, and she thought that it would be great if I sent for her, a woman that I didn't know outside of the hi and bye it took to get my sample. Then who can forget the time I was literally chased down outside of a different grocery store. I was casually walking my cart to the car when I heard speeding footsteps. I turned around to see a woman I didn't know coming at me full force! I literally screamed and tried to make a run for it, but duh, I can't run. This lady was on me like white on rice! She told me that she didn't mean to scare me, but she saw me in the store, and she simply had to know why I didn't get a gastric bypass. "Your insurance may pay for it," she told me. 

Yeah, I foolishly thought I was past this stage in my life, but surprise! Here comes social media, a brand new avenue to harass a bi$$h.  

A friend of a friend that I am sort of friendly with started messaging me a year or two ago. She would forward me posts of big people who were finding success losing weight, amongst other things. She sent me posts, "with love," from a friend of hers who was losing weight using some hula hoop contraption. After a while, she stopped messaging me, but the messages are now back. She sends healthy recipes and tips on things to eat to reduce swelling. 

I guess maturity really is something that just happens that you can't feel while you are living life, because I haven't blocked this lady or said anything snarky. I don't feel like her messages have malicious intent. They are just kind of tone deaf and unasked for. There was a time in my life when I would have told her a thing or two, but I don't feel that is appropriate here. Plus, I am old. It is easier to just see her messages, roll my eyes, and move on. I guess I am just grateful that she is not chasing me down the street with a hula hoop or something, but let's not count that possibility out. 

Not the Gram!

When I was a little girl, I used to literally kick and scream when my grandma would try to press my hair. This was also my reaction when I had to go with my aunty to her Saturday morning aerobics classes. My aunty and grandma saw the obesity train coming and tried to turn it around, but this would involve me squeezing my kiddie, frumpy, round body into a leotard that was two sizes too small. Anyway, I say all this to say that at 41, I find myself kicking and screaming every time I realize that I have yet again put off scheduling my mammogram. My first time was last year. It was okay. But I don't want to get another one right now. I just don't want to! 

And yes, I know that it is essential preventative care. Coffee's good friend just died of breast cancer that spread to her bones. She had to go into hospice care, and her power of attorney didn't waste any time cutting the treatment meds and unplugging stuff. He let me know that she had passed on, and it reminded me that I still have to schedule my mammogram. I was supposed to have gotten it done in the spring. I don't know. I'm very stressed out, and I am not in the mental place to take on any more bad news, should there be any. I don't want to deal with it. 

This AKA who went to college with me died of breast cancer, and her friends throw a fundraiser in her name every year. In the promo pictures they use, she looks so young because she died young. I didn't even know her, and I find those pics to be heartbreaking. I try to quickly scroll past them. She has been an annual reminder that I have to get this stuff done since before I was even old enough to be screened. 

Sigh. Obviously, after taking this time to complain, I have to schedule my mammogram today. I don't want to. I will just get it done like I get everything else I want to get done, done: kicking and screaming. 

The Hunter Attitude

When I worked at a daycare years ago, there was this sweet kid named Hunter that had a HORRIFIC behavior problem. He would have these big fits and tear up the classroom, and eventually ended up expelled from daycare if you can believe it. But, before he was given the boot, one of the teachers asked him if he got spankings at home. He said that he did. The teacher asked him what he said to his parents when he got spanked. He yelled, "I SAY, 'I DON'T CARE!' "

The other day, I was telling a friend a traumatic story that ended with her trying to psychoanalyze me regarding my weight. It dawned on me during this conversation that a dear friend of mine that I speak to daily kind of sees me as a fat slob that is doing nothing to better her situation. I had to let her know the conversation was irking me and we needed to move on because I felt myself about to crank dat Hunter towards someone I really care about. 

I believe that you can get so overwhelmed, like the way I feel when I get one of those You Suck letters in my email when I don't get a job, your nervous system turns into wet trash. Your mental health then has to hit Level Hunter so you can survive and not tear up the classroom of your life. It just a smooth level of I don't care designed to give us a break. 

Something is going on with me that I have had to Hunterize the issue because I don't have the wherewithall to deal with it. Thank God for the small favors. If I cared as much as I need to, I'd probably combust.