Looking for You

I look for you in the faces of strangers.  I wonder if there is another you out there, living a life.  You, but someone else.  I look for that spark in their eyes.  That little bit of recognition that tells me it’s you.  Sometimes I will see someone who walks like you or holds their shoulders the same way you always did, and I wonder if they can make awesome spaghetti sauce.  Or if they laugh out loud when they read Garfield comic books.  Or if they can program a mainframe. 

I wonder if their family appreciates them in the way I never thought to appreciate you.  I want to warn them that you are only here for a little while.  And I am jealous that they still have you.  Even though it’s not you at all.

Don't Send in the Clowns

Recently, I borrowed the book “It” by Stephen King from our local library.  King used to be one of my favorite authors, but I had never read this particular book, partially due to the fact that the book is so long.  When I checked it out, I wondered if I would have time to read it through before it was due to be returned.  Sure enough, when it came time to take the book back to the library, I was only about half way through.  I could have checked it out again and finished it, but I decided I was having enough nightmares already and I turned the book in.

This is the book many people cite as the reason they are afraid of clowns.  The story’s evil clown with his silver suit was terrifying, to be sure.  And yes, I was having bad dreams, but not about clowns.  That just seemed silly to me.  To be afraid of clowns.  Whatever.

Then I remembered my first encounter with Ronald McDonald when I was about 6 years old.  I was visiting my big brother Jim and he and his girlfriend, Mary, had taken me out for lunch at the golden arches.  This was a bit of a treat because the town where I lived didn’t have a McDonalds. 

Ronald was on the other side of the restaurant making balloon animals or something goofy like that.  From our table, I kept a suspicious eye on the clown.  There were kids laughing and running and vying for his attention.  I was not impressed with him and continued eating my cheeseburger with ketchup only.  As I watched, I realized with extreme horror that this character was making a direct line for our table.

I heard Mary say to me, “He’s coming over here.  Do you want to talk to him?” but it was rather muffled as I had just slid under the table.  I watched those big red shoes get closer and closer and then come to a stop right in front of me.  My heart was pounding.  I didn’t have so much as a French fry to defend myself with. 

I was contemplating an escape route when I heard Jim tell him, “I guess she doesn’t want to talk,” and the clown silently turned and walked away.  My brother, my hero.

So, apparently in my mind, it is stupid to be scared of a killer clown living in the sewers and eating children, but being afraid of a clown in a big yellow suit pitching fast food is OK.  In my defense, I’m betting that more people will die each year from eating too much of his fast food than will die at the hands of a killer clown.

Restless Mind Syndrome

Ever have one of those days when you want something, but you don’t know what?  I was sitting at my desk this morning, when the thought hit me that I was hungry, so I refreshed my iced tea, ate some cereal, a soft pretzel with cheese dip, and some nuts.  I was contemplating eating a banana when I realized that with all I’ve already eaten this morning, there was no way I was still hungry. 

So back to my desk to get to work.  But not before I caught up on all my “Words with Friends” games.  That didn’t take long.

I opened my email and followed up on a few, but my attention span was almost nonexistent.  I tried surfing the Internet for a while, which is typically my FAVORITE activity, but nothing really caught my attention.  I even jumped on Facebook and apparently my friends aren’t doing anything exciting right now, or at least they haven’t posted about it yet.

I thought about taking the rest of the day off.  Better to be productive at home than to just waste time at work.  I have plenty to do at home, but nothing that I really want to do today. 

And so here I sit with a gnawing feeling of want.  I definitely want something.  Something, something, something…

How Frustrating

I was in my car the other day skipping through the channels on the radio.  I stopped when I came to one that was broadcasting a religious program and I listened for just a minute.  The man on the program was talking about “frustration.”  My life is basically a huge, seething ball of frustration, so that word caught my attention. 

According to this radio preacher, frustration is a sin.

What?

Yes, he went on to explain, it is a sin because the feeling of frustration stems from the desire to control someone else, which is wrong. 

Whoa.  Not sure what to think of that.  My first thought was if you are sinning, but you don’t know you are sinning, do you still go to hell?  Second, I don’t remember frustration in the list of sins; pride, gluttony, sloth…  I’ve got a handle on those, but frustration?  I had never considered that as an act against God before. 

I would guess that at any given time, I am frustrated about at least a dozen issues.  Just off the top of my head, I’m frustrated that:

1.        iTunes somehow know what songs I already have on my iPod and those are the ones they list for $0.69. 

2.       My skin continues to break out like I’m a sophomore in high school

3.       My Mom doesn’t act like she used to act.

4.       I have that little tickle in my throat signaling the beginning of yet another cold.

I’m not even sure where to go with this.  Frustration for me is not liking the way things are, but feeling powerless to change them.  That sums up my life.  I hope things will get better because I am not happy with the way things are now.  Frustrated.    (sinner.)

I realize this was just one preacher’s statement, but he really got me to thinking.  And this will be in my prayers because I sure don’t know what to do on my own.

Reminiscing About a Wild Hair

I cleaned house yesterday, which in itself is not my favorite activity, but in order to make it a little more bearable, I like to play music on my ipod for background noise.  Music seems to keep me motivated better than television and there is not the urge to sit down and watch the show. 

Yesterday’s playlist was “hairbands.”  I love hairbands.  Give me a group of guys wearing tons of eyeliner and enough hairspray in their hair to be a fire hazard and I am ready to rock. 

Of course there is the nostalgia part of it.  I have loved hairbands for a long time and many of my fondest high school memories (as well as some memories I’d like to forget) have these songs playing in the background. 

I’m not sure what part I miss the most from that time in my life.  It could be the primping.  Although it might sound weird and completely vain, I loved how my friends and I would crowd around the mirror in my bathroom before going out on the weekend.  It was a haze of hairspray, powder, and perfume and it was wonderful.  I thought we were gorgeous.  We were unstoppable.  This is a far cry from anything going on in front of my mirror nowadays.  Yes, all the same basic products are there, but it has definitely lost its spark.

Or maybe it was the frantic pace of my life back then.  My days were spent in school, sometimes at practice, usually followed by work.  By the time I arrived home sometime after 11 p.m., I was ready for a snack while I started my homework.  But the moments in between are what I remember the most:  Cruising town with my best friends, sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night, making plans to go out that weekend.  And make no mistake; it was hell at the time.  But it made for some good memories.

I think more than anything, it was the excitement, the anticipation that colored my world back then that I miss the most.  I didn’t know how my day would turn out.  A chance meeting could change everything.  I didn’t know who I would be when I grew up.  But the suspense was killing me. 

Today, I pretty much know who I am.  I can tell you with a fair amount of certainty how today and tomorrow and the next day will go.  Of course the unexpected happens, but many things about me are set.  They just are and they will never be any different than they are now.  Not that I want to change anything.  Having a routine is comforting and I will take comfort over drama any day.

And so I listen to hairbands.  And for just a little while, I let my mind wander into that land of “what if.”