Plain Talk

A friend came to visit me, rather unwanted last night. He had called out of the blue and amazing enough, my vanilla talk and ruse of a voice failed me, he could tell something was off, so he came whether I thought I needed it or not.

He's one of those friends, I've kept since high school, that knows far too much about all that is me, yet never holds it against me. It's ironic how sporadic I talk to him sometimes, yet, thats always all right. Five months can pass without a word and neither of us would ever be angry at the other for it. Life happens, we're busy, we accept that.

Robert is different then most of my friends, very much so. He wears an eyebrow ring and has a tongue ring. He likes music, art galleries and woman's breasts more then anything in the world. He'll take me for long drives when I'm feeling like the breath of life has been sucked out of me, listening to Tori Amos or Prodigy as loud as I want it and never ask a single question. He respects my silence.

He respected my silence last night, but sat next to me holding my hand. He didn't ask a single question, he knows better, but he did say something that left a haunted impression in my mind for the day. He said, "Rebecca, I don't know what your fighting right now, but it's holding the best pieces of you." Thats an arty creative friend for you..........

He's right, and I hate that. Actually hate isn't a descriptive enough word, I loathe that I'm wallowing around in this sculpture of sadness. I hold no notion of sympathy for myself, I am certainly not of victim status, nor am I a vision of inspiration. I am what I am, the result of cause and effect. This space, I place the fine signature of fault firmly on my shoulders. People should get what they deserve. People who don't are the sneaky ones.

I thought about it today. I don't even have any good patent excuses to fall back on. Nope, nadda. My parents never were divorced. They never beat me. They spent a ton of time with me growing up. They encouraged me, taught me, gave me a great set of wings. The only thing I can think of, is that they were one step ahead of the therapy revolution and made sure I wouldn't have anything to take to a shrink when I was older. You know, something that would be anything close to a grand Ah Ha moment, pointing fingers and breathing a sigh of relief that pronounced a big, thats why moment! Sneaky parents~

Thats all right, I've never been much for the blame game, I'm more of a responsibility and accountability gal. Grumbling, I must admit I am responsible for my actions and I must be held accountable. I think if I ever even whispered under my breath that something wasn't fair, my parents would appear hypothetically and smack me around. They don't play that game either, old school parents, and never let me.

So that leaves me, with the grand master of all, myself. Now, I've seen enough Doctors in my lifetime to ask them on several occasions if something is wrong with my mind. You never know unless you ask!  I've tried to point out to my regular doctor on several occasions that I must be short of a few necessary mind parts. He disagrees. He's not buying it and refuses to slip me some cozy mind drugs. The last time I told him he needs to get with the drug movement program, get up to speed and start writing prescriptions, he laughed at me, makes a note and tells me he's still not buying it. Stingy Doctor~

I've also had enough pictures taken of my brain via expensive neurologists to take a good peak there to look for abnormalities. Thats right, I make Dr. Cline chuckle <<getting a real laugh from this one is true work>> when I'm bent forward studying pictures of my brain asking her "Where is the part for making rational choices, I'm pretty sure that area will show signs of damage" or I've asked her, "Show me the zone for L. O. V. E.  receptors, I'm certain those are out of whack." <<She did laugh out loud on that one>> Dr. Cline has no issues writing prescriptions, but unfortunately those are all for kicken chicken seizures, not for whacked brain choices. No humor Doctor~

At least I can say there is one legit thing wrong with my mind, I have a classic short circuit somewhere in there <I'm told thats what cause the seizures> thats right, electrical currents that don't fire off right. Personally, I have guesses it resides somewhere close to the 'make positive changes department' zone..............