Sunday nights are usually uneventful at my little house, the dogs usually get a bath, light clean up around the house, a dab of laundry. Movie watching. Between self analyzing, and yep, self loathing, and appreciation, I was tangled in the web of Family Guy. Normal Peter Griffin madness right? Then, like a beacon cutting through the fog, Conway Twitty!!! Fancy, cowboy, Conway Twitty. On Hee Haw. Have you ever noticed every song that man ever uttered out of his body were songs about cheatin', pleasin', touchin', teasin', and effin'? Mostly effin'. Results of his effin'. Build up to effin'. Who was next on the effin' list. Who he might be effin' around somebody else's back. My conclusion?
You can apply most life situations to:
A. Any Conway Twitty song
B. Any Reba Mcentire lyrics.
It's true. She sings about it all.
Swedish fish. On my mind, the candy. Not that I want any, but I am thinking of a very dear friend of mine that passed away in 2008. Her name is Heather Anderson Land. She would get a kick out of this blog. The first part of it, she would have laughed. She struggled with cancer for 3 years. When I see swedish fish I think of that girl. I think about how courageous she had to be. I think about the times she came into work so nauseous it was the only expression she wore the entire day. She had married her long time boyfriend the summer before she died. We all knew her prognosis. We all knew how it could end. They still carried on, like it was the normal process, which it was, it was just different. It started in her foot. Exactly. In her heel. A dark spot. That wouldn't go away. Crazy huh?
Do you expect me to go on about her amazing attitude? Well, she was perfect. And honest. You could ask well, how are you? I'm shitty, or just trying, or I'm fine. She didn't hide it. She knew how important it was to show the transparency of her emotions. To be vulnerable.
She passed away a day after my birthday. 1 day. We were the same age.
I can't help to think of my friend Steven, who is amazing in his own right. I'm not really sure if he's dead or alive. Steven, not once, called me by my name. He thought I was some kind of fairy. He would say things like my fairy has come to see me, let me show you my knife collection. ( There wasn't a knife collection, BTW.) The point is, Steven didn't see me for who I was, he saw me for who he made me in his mind. He would braid my hair, go for walks in the woods. Scramble by the lake in Jefferson City. If you take the dirt road by the water treatment plant, you can walk on the lake bed. That, my friend, was an ultimate Sunday. I could tell him anything. Why? He wouldn't remember. He wouldn't repeat it either.
He would say the most obvious things, and I would eat it up. Not ever meaning to give advice.
I saw a bird fly into a window today, and I had to laugh at loud. Mean?
Ok, so I may be mad at God.
Feeling like Job all over again.
Is it necessary?
In order to stretch a little more?
Must I feel uncomfortable to gain?