I’ve let the gray grass grow; I present as the X generation, but my natural ebullience will leave you baffled. (I may be old to you, but I saw all the cool bands)
Unattachment to societal conformity is my key to successful maturity and awareness. Comical, but no fan of the ‘Jackass’ crowd. Educated, but can’t afford to get that degree, yet. Globally appreciative, without the passport. I get excitable chills when I discover something I never knew before is actually a thing! (i.e. Rosca de Reyes v. Mardi Gras king cake)
However, everyone has those days. Osteo pain can make me a bitch, but no
one dares call me on my surliness. Why would they? They can’t do anything about
it. Letting me vent will definitely help. (Though, I think they’re afraid of my
taser)
Thankfully, we live the era now that won’t tolerate the misinformed & insensitive:
“If you’re not walking in my shoes, then back off; you can’t possibly know how this
feels, and be glad you don’t!” can be snarled. (If they snarl back just to
snarl, their name’s Karen---cue eyeroll)
When you’ve lived more than half your existence with ailment no prescription
will alleviate, you create your own helpful life hacks. I own mad skills at
targeting exactly where a cereal box will land in my scooter-grocery cart, from
a quick tip-over with my mobility cane; right between the coffee filters and Minute
Maid carton.
So, no, I don’t need your help, kind stranger. I’ve got it down due to
necessity.
Oh, but don’t get me wrong--I’d never treat a bookstore the
same way! Lawd, no! I’d rather search multiple aisles of tall shelves for that bored,
knit-capped-pseudo-hipster employee, and pump up his ego for his help in reaching
for that Stephen King/J.D. Robb/John Grisham/James Patterson, et al that’s just
outta my reach. A book in my hands always gets the knit cap a genuine smile and
a ‘Thank you.’
Yah, you’ve just figured out why my blog has been its own deserted island-of-misfit-toys;
can’t decide which I love more: reading, or writing. Oh, I DO write, but I can
be pretty brutal to my work. No, it’s not in a pile of crushed up paper balls.
How stereo-troped is that? Nah, it still lives and breathes in my composition
books. I just need to edit it all so that it no longer reads the way I’d originally
written it.
Talk about ‘gate-keeping’ at its snottiest.
I think I just hurt my brain. Sorry, bones. You’ll have to
take a back-seat for a while.
