some things you probably didn’t know about me:

I was in special ed for several years, beginning in the fifth grade. I’d never really caught up academically after missing most of first grade. Why, you ask? Because I thought I was strong enough to move a pot of boiling potatoes off the stove when the timer went off. I remember worrying as I lugged it to the table that I might burn the surface, so I hauled it back to the stove. My mind didn’t even make the connection of how badly it would hurt. I have a distinct memory of thinking: ‘well, I guess it wouldn’t be THAT bad if it fell. If I can’t do it, I can’t do it.’ Ah, from the mouths of babes. (Me and my sister/cousin Toni, we’re perhaps 4 or 5, and only a month and a day apart in age; with her being the older and wiser one of the pair.)
As of late I’ve been responsible for several deaths. (Man, this list got dark fast.) I found the first victim myself. I used my bedroom window as a plant nursery for a cutting of rosemary. I’d wrapped the bottom of the stem with paper towel and placed it in a jar of water. When I inspected it a few days later, I noticed it was doing wonderfully before seeing the tiny skeleton attached to the sticky surface where the label had once been. It was a baby lizard. I felt like a monster. Then the fly paper I’d placed in the kitchen took down two more. In tune with the Halloween spirit, my home has become a place where lizards come in, but they never go out… (insert evil laugh here)
I am trying a thing called Radical Honesty. If you’ve watched the show Lie To Me, you know what I’m talking about. Maybe not exactly the way that guy does it, but basically it’s just honesty, all the time. No little white lies. It’s uncomfortable to step outside the usual social norms at times, but I find I like it, even if I am not always brave enough to do it.
I am a perfectionist – but only with myself. With others, it’s easier to remember we’re all human and we all make mistakes. But with myself, I have a history of browbeating the one person I know from personal experience is trying her best.
And lastly (for tonight anyways) – I believe in Angels. Of course I’m pretty sure there are spirits floating around out there, but right now I’m talking about the Everyday Angels. Like the person behind you in line who(m?) tosses a dollar to the cashier to cover what you lack. I’ve had many experiences with Everyday Angels, but the ones that pop to mind happened in the City of Angels. Let me break it down for you. I’d taken a bus to East L.A. from Cleveland to cheapen the cost of traveling to Australia. On the map the distance looked short, maybe only a few centimeters, but it would take me all day to get to a hostel close to the airport. As I walked through a seedy neighborhood at night I thought, this is how people die Consuelo. It was funnier in the day to walk passed the vatos standing outside a bar. I was wearing everything I owned in a backpack so big, it was my own personal turtle shell. It may have even functioned in the same fashion had I fallen over. The first Everyday Angel came in the form of a woman coming off of the same exit ramp I did. (At one point I crossed a highway and then walked along it – I was in my early twenties and too naive to know any better.) She got out of her car and offered me a ride. She seemed harmless enough until I noticed the shadow in the backseat. She followed my gaze and told me it was just her mother. I apologized and said my dad would be mad if I hitchhiked (though I would become less concerned overseas). She pleaded with me to let her drive me out of ‘this bad neighbor.’ I thanked her for her concern and said “God bless you.” I still remember the worry in her voice as she responded, “No honey, God bless you.” Not long after I passed people sleeping under a bridge, did I begin to question my decision not to get in her car after all. I happened upon a train station. Thankful, I rushed towards the kiosk, only to realize it only accepted cash. The debit card in my hand was useless. That was the moment I became afraid. There were many people around the train spot, some of them dubious, while others just stared at the girl who was clearly out of place. When the man came up to me, I felt nervous and slightly defensive. He pointed out the obvious. “You need a ticket.” My objection to this fact was thankfully brushed off as he talked me through the purchase. “You’re going to the airport, so you’ll need a transfer.” Before I was fully aware, he paid for the ticket and placed it in my hand. He quickly walked away as I stared open mouthed at him. The bus arrived just as he made it to the curb. I had just enough time to stammer out a “thank you!” And as if from a movie, he turned as got on and shouted, “No worries – it’s what I do!” And like that, he was gone. So I guess what I’m saying is: Everyday Angel rock. Big time. C~