Flash fiction written under the influence of a temperature. Because life is meant to be an adventure and this qualifies.
He hadn’t been looking for a savior. Knew that love never conquered all. Despite what the fairy tales said. But when she came along, things…changed.
He found himself grinning stupidly for no reason other than in response to her batting her long eyelashes. He did things he wouldn’t normally do. Like suffer through a movie with subtitles. Seriously, if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.
But he had never said it. Not those three words she often, to the point of being downright annoying, had longed for him to say.
He just wasn’t that type. So sue him.
To him, love meant showing it in your actions, not in meaningless words that conveyed nothing but hot air. And hadn’t he done just that?
She had said with a sigh about her birthday wish for the year being for him to rid their yard of the multitude of oak leaves before snow flew. Because it would be so much prettier to look at. Since he wouldn’t (sigh, whine, hint) say I love you.
He got the hint. He was on a mission. He would prove his love to her even if it meant their yard would be a bare lot before he was through. He had attempted several things but…then he had had an idea.
And he had succeeded. Not with gas, matches and a bare lot, that would be crazy, but in the leaves be gone sense.
“He’s not out of the woods yet.”
Geez. The voices in his head were back. Why wouldn’t they leave him be? Or… had he gone round the bend? Maybe she had driven him bonkers, it wasn’t too far-fetched.
And where was he? Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t someone turn off that infernal beeping and why wasn’t he hearing the dulcet tones of her-his love, his crazy in the making woman, his beauty, his lif-“Damn him.”
“Why he thought re-wiring bug zappers around all the trees and to those electric nets was a good idea, I’ll never know. All I wanted was a rake and sweat.”
I’ve always been a right now and not later, type of person. All or nothing and full speed ahead. Patience simply wasn’t included within my blueprints. Not when I was born with the equivalent of a fire alarm going off in my head and inner voice clamoring for me to run.
Run fast, run far, run now.
I’ve raced through my entire life like a runaway train. Rocking and reeling on the tracks and no emergency brake. Always looking for the next milestone and the next experience and on and on. The reason of why I should run, or to what destination, has remained unknown.
I was born driven and I’ve never stopped.
Yeah, of course there were exceptions, there always are, but precious few. Pregnancy, growing out a bad haircut, waiting in the DMV line-that’s about it.
It’s not all bad, my lack of patience, I know it’s a part of my ADHD and something I’ve had to accept. And it has managed to produce results I may not have had I not been stubborn and refused to give up pushing forward.
Then again, it’s also put me in situations that would’ve been avoidable if I had only taken a second to breathe and reassess before jumping.
I have harbored a sincere dislike for the stuff everyone says about patience since I was old enough to understand them. Like all good things in good time and blah-blah.
I hate to admit it but…I’m changing my thinking and might have to admit that I might have been wrong.
3 months for the things I’ve wanted and wished for to happen-for years-have happened. And it was because I made a conscious effort to ignore the compulsion to run and slowed down to a walk. Hard to do un-medicated but still achievable.
In 3 short months, I’ve come so far. I’ve managed to close not 1, but 2 doors on long since concluded chapters of my life. Ones that haunted me and refused to be silenced, but I have and I walked away with a smile.
I’ve been able to enjoy friendship and feel the brush of anticipation of good things to come, rather than racing on to conquer the next challenge.
I’ve missed out on a lot. I’m realizing this lately, but I’m not looking back. I may always be driven, impatient, and stubborn-I’m human.
The difference is that I choose to walk instead of run. Whatever the next thing is, I’ll make there.
And why were these chairs so uncomfortable? Did they purposely look for the meanest ass breaker chairs possible? He supposed they did.
There was no predicting what the ornery little brat had done. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t anything involving flames, or wigs or requiring monetary compensation. Payday wasn’t til the following week.
This year his kid had awakened with the need to drive people insane and was doing a damn fine job of it. He’d been summoned here 3 times already and it wasn’t yet winter break.
In September, he’d been presented with a laundry list of foul terms, phrases, and bad choices in music when his son had hacked into the PA system and used it as his own personal radio station.
He’d had to yes ma’am and no ma’am that sourpuss principal with no sense of humor for what seemed like hours and then when his son admitted that he’d gotten the idea from him, that he’d heard his dear old Dad reminiscing about his high school days?
Yep. Definitely could kiss the Parent of the Year Award buh-bye.
October had brought the smuggling in of a universal TV remote so that the day’s planned educational video had been replaced with Jerry Springer reruns the second the teacher had left the room (privately, he rather thought that one had been genius) to which he’d made the horrific mistake of laughing.
Not laughing, but belly laughing hard and loud and hearing it echo up and down the corridors, that most certainly had done little for the damage control he was up attempting to try, well…
Not one of his finer moments to be sure.
It was November and here he was again. So what the monster done?? And why was he waiting and sweating as if he’d been the one who’d done something wrong?
The school should really consider handing out stress balls to the parents they made sit here for any length of time because this just sucked a-
“You may come in now.”
ugh Here we go.
Plastering on his best smile he slunk into the stuffy dim lit office and saw his son beaming with a mischievous smile from under his bright blue eyes from which the devil in him shone.
“Dad! I figured out how to get fresh milk at school. I brought Baby in so I didn’t have to drink the pasteurized stuff you said the buttknuckles who work here serve us but …”
That was it. The kid obviously wanted to kill him.
I have a sore on my toe. It’s not a nasty one, nor is it spectacularly painful. It isn’t even oozing an interesting color of pus. Why CeeLee, how very disgusting and irrelevant of you. It’s Saturday, don’t you have anything more…Right.
Back to the point.
The toe sore is completely unremarkable except for being utterly annoying, but concentrating on this is several quadrillion tons of preferable to thinking about what’s really bothering me.
Which is exactly my point.
In my not so distant past, I was an accomplished runner. I might have been something amazing-if it had been physical running, like my sister, She Who Runs In Rain-but…it wasn’t and I have the table muscles (think out of shape and looking it) to prove it.
No, my running was of a different and decidedly cowardly variety. More like jogging from situations involving confrontation, sprinting away from drama and hurtling over anyone and everything that posed the risk of pain, yeah, that is was my sport of choice.
It’s kinda funny how life can be sometimes.
Turns out that when I started to wake up and things began to change, I lost my running shoes. The people, places, and things are still here and the desire to run is stronger than ever before but I can’t find those damn shoes. Anywhere.
And living fearless means facing stuff. Even the stuff that scares you into contemplating how nice Tahiti might be this time of year.
I do know that not everything that comes with change will be butterflies and kisses, even when the change is for the better. I know that it’s necessary to feel things, really feel them, and not run from them, I get that too.
But on some days, like today, when I’m sitting on my porch shivering in the damp air while pecking this out, I can’t help but wish that life lived fully wasn’t so hard. That I didn’t feel so raw from all of the emotions I’m not accustomed to having to deal with, the ones that come from facing fears head on.
Is that so wrong?
Oh, I’m not without a few wins. I’d be whining and lying if I were to tell you that. No. I’ve had several huge victories and multiple small ones since I’ve started stumbling down this path I didn’t know I’d chosen for myself.
I’ve started looking, really looking, at myself in the mirror now, where as before I was afraid to do more than the ole glance and grimace before I went out the door.
Before that I hadn’t looked in the mirror for 2 years. I could say it was because I had tragic accident with hairspray and a lighter at a concert or that a crazed weed whacker wielding maniac wearing swim trunks, a cowboy hat, and purple galoshes was grinning back at me whenever I did.
I could say that and it’d be so much more entertaining if I did, but sadly, not even so much as a horribly creepy clown (thanks Stephen King, thanks a buttload) was behind me when I did.
Sorry to disappoint you. I’m disappointed too. I must work on having as wild a life in reality as the one I lead inside my head. Because in there, I am fanfreakintastic. A true visionary and well spoken leader. One for whom medication isn’t becoming a more viable option by the day.
Anyway. I haven’t dared sneak a peek other than the cursory once over; hair not standing up, eyebrows in their place, no schmutz on me and no other glaring fashion faux paus, in 2 years because I haven’t wanted to see what’s reflected back.
Bet you thought it was a poor body image thing. Maybe part of it was and is-well, yeah, it is-but most of it was because I just didn’t care and didn’t want to see that I didn’t care.
Now I do care and I am facing myself daily. Sometimes more than once. Big win for me. Mega big.
I’ve conquered the belief that I couldn’t hold the job I’ve held for more than a month and I have and am doing well. Another win.
I’m learning that I can have friends-yes- but that I’m in severe need of learning patience. And that running them away just because I get scared isn’t quite the recommended way to progress. So that one’s kind of like baseball. Not over yet, just at full count and I will either tank or nail it. Still sort of counts, as it’s progress. Mostly.
Besides I’m the one keeping score.
But these things bother me. I’m off balance. It’s a strain trying to move forward when my steps are more like a toddler who’s recently learned how to walk, instead of my full-on wind sprints in the opposite direction.
And it’s worrisome when I don’t have a guidebook to follow. What if I’m making mistakes? What if this is the general direction I’m supposed to go in, but there’s an easier way and I don’t see it? What if, what if.
I’ve got to believe that though I may be making mistakes, falling down and getting toe sores unrelated to the current one, each day that I do get up and meet my own eyes in the mirror-is a good day.
Because I can see hope in them and the desire that the hope will never fade or that I’ll go back to sleep.
And dammit, that has to count for something, no matter how bad my breaking old patterns and habits hurts.