In third grade, my boyfriend was Trevor Gibson. When he played wall ball at recess, I played ponies on the four-square court. Ponies is basically what it sounds like; a few girls and I pretended to be horses. One day when I got locked up in a pretend barn stall, I told someone I needed saving and to get Trevor. Minutes later, when he actually came, I about had a little kid panic attack out of embarrassment.
Our love story started when Mrs. Monin asked me to tag along with him to the bathroom when in class, one day, he got a bloody nose. I distinctly remember us not talking the entire walk.
I broke up with him when he didn’t choose my seat for the bus ride to The Seattle Aquarium. These memories total almost all our interactions during our relationship. Did we also hold hands while roller skating, and was his hand really sweaty? Yeah, I’m confident that happened and that it was.
What’s this stir-crazy feeling in me, anyway? Be gone my desire to disengage and isolate; it’s not working for me! It’s fully fall now; so I better get cozying up in a blankie with a book and hibernating like the good bear I am.
Speaking of books, I’m looking forward to reading Gabor Mate’s new one, “The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness, and Healing in a Toxic Culture.” I’ve read previous books of his and seen several talks too and I’m always impressed with the wisdom and clarity he brings to complex issues.
I better get to it! Thanks for dropping in.