Licking Your Wounds

I few weeks ago, I defriended someone on facebook.  More  than that I defriended them in my life as well.  It’s not the first time in my life that I have had such a moment, a bitter goodbye, an intentional parting of ways.  And it seems as if I react the same each and every time.  There is the last straw moment.  That moment in which every little thing that you have swallowed, tried to accept, argued over, cried over comes up and says no more.  And for about 3 days, you are just proud of yourself for not taking any more crap.  It’s the next stage that I don’t much care for.  It’s the should’ve stage.  It’s the part  where I replay everything that has happened and try to resolve it in a different way… a better way.  Not necessarily in a manner that salvages the relationship, but in a manner in which you don’t have any regrets.  I suppose that’s why I replay the whole thin in my head over and over again.  It’s almost like putting iodine on a cut.  Sure it stings, but it stings in a  good way – sort of.  Somehow, the pain is part of  the process – and not always an unenjoyable part.  You know that as soon as you spray on the iodine, that it will begin to heal the wound.  And you keep going back – and why is that.  Why do we continue to seek the sting?  Is it so that we can become accustomed or indifferent to the   bigger hurt through a series of little hurts?  Do I repeat the phrase “I figured you’d backpeddle” (infamous last words from defriended person) over in my head because … because why?  I simply don’t understand why I keep going back  there and replaying the whole thing in my head.  I suppose,  for me,there’s a lack of satisfaction because I didn’t say all the things I wanted to say.  I didn’t get mean and hateful and hurtful like I really wanted to.  Sure, doesn’t that make me a great person – but I’m pretty certain that such goodness is negated by all the hateful, hurtful jibes that I have  issued in my mind since that moment.   And I think that’s it.  I don’t regret the end of the relationship.  It was more than time for it to end, it had served it’s purpose and really already died a natural death.  But it’s the fact that my feelings were hurt and I didn’t get to hurt back.  What does that say about me, that I feel the need to make someone else miserable.  And really, if not saying those mean, hateful things, makes me carry around crap for days, months, years on end why should I not say it at the time.  Why is holding your tongue taking the high road.  On the flip side, what would have the words have accomplished.  Nothing.  It would merely have escalated the whole thing to a higher level.  And eventually, someone would have to step back and say done.  And then what sort of mental conversations would I have had? It just seems that life would be a little bit better if by taking the  high road  and holding your tongue, you didn’t feel robbed somehow, cheated.  But in the long run, I suppose I’d rather than feel cheated than hurt – because hurt is the only thing that I’m really not – because I no longer cared about the person, and her opinions matter less than nothing to me and haven’t for a very long time.   I just didn’t  win the contest of words, because I walked away.. and losing sucks.

The Thinking Place

It seems that I am always carrying this blog of mine around with me.  Trying to find something worthwhile or amusing to write about.  If I’m honest with myself, I would admit that I write because I lurve it when people say they have read what I have written and enjoyed it.  That makes me feel good.  But it seems that in the middle of the business that accompanies living with 6 boys, working at an elementary school, or just living in general, that I don’t often have enough ideas, or find enough things amusing.  What I have learned about myself is that when I have a moment of peace during the day, when no one is around, I tend to think about the world around me, or about something funny.  What I wish is that that moment didn’t occur most frequently when I was in the restroom.

Just this week, I had stopped by the teacher restroom on the 3rd grade hallway.  And as I was doing what you do when you are in the restroom, I noticed for the 480th time ( I know it’s 480, because I’ve worked at Alvaton for almost 3 full years and use that restroom every day) a sign that said, we thank you for making sure that you didn’t get anything on the toilet seat or on the floor.  And for probably the 200th time, I wondered, who is that sign for?  I mean, was there once a person who worked there who came in and just peed all over the floor then left it for the next person to stumble upon?  Was there once a man who didn’t raise the seat and was a dribbler. Since I live with small boys, I can tell you that dribblers are highly annoying for those of us who sit to pee, because you don’t always see the dribble, but you ALWAYS feel the dribble.  But, at least they’ve taken down the Mr. April poster of the bulldog.  I spent many a potty break contemplating who thought that was funny, amusing, a great picture.  Deep down, I suppose i hoped that it was covering a whole in the door or something because it didn’t make sense to me at all.

And unfortunately, for me and if you’re reading this you, the same phenomena occurs in public restrooms.  You are surprised what sort of things women talk about in the restroom.  Or better yet, what little kids say to their mom’s in the restroom.  If you’re making a lengthy deposit, then you can actually have some entertaining moments.  But it’s not always what you hear in the restroom that gives you cause for thought.  Sometimes, it’s all the internal restroom drama.  I have mentioned that I go to the potty a lot, right? 

There are those people in the world who are not comfortable with public restroom use.  Sure, it’s o.k. to go in and pee, but nothing more.  Everything else is contained until they get home, or to some other designated restroom.  I am not that person.  But, I don’t know if I want that to be public knowledge.  I have apparently spent some 35 of my 40 years trying to achieve the impossible, the silent, scentless poop.  I must confess that it is an impossibility.  And I must unfortunately confess  to cheating in my attempt to achieve this biological impossibility.  There’s the flush repeatedly in the midst of the action thus providing sound cover and reducing time for odor to spread.  There is the intermittent poop, feet raised, where you try to wait until the room is cleared, but just incase, you don’t want anyone recognizing you by your footwear.  There is the poop and run, where you go as quickly as you can, speed wash your hands and leave before anyone in the stalls near you can recognize you by your shoes.  And there’s the subterpoop, where you just pretend you didn’t do that, or that it was there when you came in.  And since you can see that I apparently spend a lot of time thinking about poop (and I’m not sure if it’s because I live with small boys or if it’s just me and my penchant for taking a moment to contemplate life in the quiet moments on the pot), you can no doubt ascertain my deep annoyance when I enter into a bathroom after someone else has already left a hefty deposit.  Sure I sympathize with them, I know how it is.  But after doing my business while taking tiny breaths out of my mouth while I wonder what they could possible have eaten to make such a horrific smell, I step out of the restroom to see that someone is waiting to use the restroom, and they are going to be thinking those thoughts about me.  Or better, when you you are that person waiting after someone has left such a stink.  And there’s a general lack of eye contact at the door.  You wonder why they seem to be grumpy at you and then you walk into the restroom, and you realize that was grumpiness but shame.  And, as a side topic here, I have to say that I don’t know what teachers eat, but oh my goodness it can’t be healthy – all I’m saying.

All this being said, It bothers me that sitting on the potty is the only time that I really have to think.  I do think some when I’m driving, but I’m such a bad driver, it’s really more important that I pay attention to the road.  And car contemplation can only occur when the boys are content, and Isaiah is in the stage of car conversation, so there is not a lot of independent thought going on while I hear the melodious tones of Isaiah saying mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama in the back seat.  Maybe someday, I’ll find a better place to have my random moments of thought, that tend to lead to entries here, I hope so, but I doubt it.