Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

On the roof of a close-to-dilapidated shed stand three-foot white letters. Well, not ALL stand; some are crooked, others have fallen over. The no longer operating Oakridge Range golfing spot left to nature now spells O A R D G E R A E, and is a favorite roadside attraction of mine. Set along a stretch of eastbound highway 12 leaving the Pacific Beaches, I feel compelled to bring a brilliantly awesome camera at a perfect lit time of day and snap a photo of it. But today it reminded me of the kids book Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, and how the alphabet’s bullyish race to the top of a coconut tree leaves them at its base, disordered, with broken teeth and scraped knees.

Before I go on with the show, I have two updates. First, my friend’s response to the t-shirt was (and this is precisely her spelling) – “Oh my fucking Godddddddd I love itttttt”. Then she called, taking me on the roller coaster of thoughts and emotions she had opening it, “Is it? Oh my! Yes!” The second update is my cousin bought a house, and no longer will I be fostering her cats. However much I haven’t minded them here, the crystal ball reading “No cats for you” has become vividly apparent.

Do I abolish my New Year’s resolution of twenty push-ups by the year’s end? I hate admitting it, but I’ve been a bum on strengthening my upper body. Changing the laundry just now, I dropped down and barely made it to three, meaning I’ll need to add 3.8 more by two weeks from now to make my monthly target goal. Can I do it? The jury of me is out watching butterflies and hasn’t a clue.

I bet you can relate to the shameful feelings that come in the wake of goals being abandoned. But, the point of my resolution was to be stronger, not to be stronger perfectly.

Phew, what a relief. I’m glad I was finally able to get that off my chest.

I used to believe what I wanted was wrong. On the drive home earlier, I reflected on ex-boyfriends that didn’t believe in marriage and shit-talked about my wanting it and how I considered their perspective over my own. What selfish people they were, I thought, and something inside me lit up. The part of myself that felt ashamed for wanting it then was like, thank you, what I wanted was ok.

The stories we tell ourselves matter.

Love, Jaclynn

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