Do you remember how a few posts ago I talked about how happy I am now and how part of that happiness stems from my newfound spirituality and how part of that spirituality encompasses working with crystals, setting them with intentions to facilitate change and to allow me to be open and accepting of that change? Well, something that seemed totally impossible in the past due to my all-encompassing fear of things unknown has actually come to pass, and I know it's partially, if not totally, due to that work: After eighteen years of first weeks of school at Miramar High (or twenty-one if you want to count the three years I went to high school there), I finally had a first week somewhere else. I won't lie and say the change was the easiest thing I ever experienced, but you know what? It was a lot less terrifying than I thought it would be, and best of all, I didn't drop dead.
But you know what? I don't want to write about that anymore. I thought I did when I initially started this post, but in quintessential Kismet fashion, it's been days since I started writing, and those days have led me someplace else, and while that someplace else is kind of connected, it's also kind of not.
Let's go back a few weeks to a date I went on with a guy named Dan (who, incidentally, made fun of Blink-182 at the end of the night when I mentioned having had a Blink sticker on my car in the past and then, when I showed him the Blink-182 tattoo on my wrist, continued ridiculing them and then had the nerve to ask me out again. Like, dude. As if) who told me he had two autistic kids. When I got home that night, I mentioned to--my roommate? Super good friend? Boy who calls me Emo Madre? Substitute son?--Sam how lucky I am that both Griffin and Keifer are okay. That feeling has been reinforced many times in the past week since I started at my new school where I've been exposed to far more ESE students than I'm used to and then extra reinforced when I got an email about a student who just last year was diagnosed with a rare disease that's so uncommon, it's a disease most people probably don't know. If not for the fact that when I was eight or nine years old, a former classmate of mine had a heart attack and died not long after being diagnosed with it, I also wouldn't know.
I was thinking about that kid, who also happens to be autistic, on my way home from work today, and about his poor mom, which led to more thoughts of Griffin and Keifer and how lucky I am, and in a thought process you probably didn't expect, it led to my thinking about boys and sex (but let's come the fuck on. The vast majority of my thoughts lead to boys and sex. You can't be entirely shocked).
I thought about how even though I absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent know it to be ridiculously untrue and a wild overstatement caused by nothing more than dopamine and oxytocin induced by five-heart-rated sex, there might be an itty bitty, teeny tiny, microscopic, infinitesimal possibility that I might be the ittiest, bittiest, teeniest, tiniest, microscopickest, infinitesimallest bit in love although I think the diction I'm in the throes of a crush is probably a better choice of words. I thought about that, and I thought about how much happy it gives me, and I thought about how in the past, it would have given me lots of sad because in the past, I would have been all, What is this? and Why is this not _________? and Why does _____________? but now I'm all like, heart-eye emoji and, well, actually, that's it. I'm all like heart-emoji and nothing else.
Heart-eye emoji, full stop. That's motherfucking me.
And why is that me? And how does this connect to autistic kids and sick kids and the thought of young people dying?
There's so much bad in the world. So much. So much bad and so much sad, and at some point in my recent history, I've begun to pay less attention to the sad--in my immediate world, anyway--and acknowledge the good.
When Keifer first told me he wasn't going to college, I was upset, and when he first got a moon tattoo on his face, my initial reaction wasn't the best, but after reflecting on those things, I realized he was happy(ish) and healthy and living his life, and, really, what more could a parent want? I saw the good in his choices, and just like that, I was happy again.
When I was in my car thinking those sad thoughts today, the ones that led to the sex and the boys, I made a conscious decision to see the beauty in things instead of the flaws, to focus on that which makes my heart full instead of what could make it empty and while at that point in my car, thoughts of that which I find beautiful and that which makes my heart full veered in a direction we won't talk about, I suppose the notion behind the thought action actually does bring me back to the initial intent of this post and my leaving MHS.
When at first I put in for a transfer, I cried for days, and when I packed up my room and left? When I looked at my desk and saw this?
When this?
Great googly moogly, can we talk emotion, por favor?
It was like the finale of a long-running TV show. As I walked out of the place where everybody knows my name and into an obscure spinoff, I certainly felt sad, but I felt excited, too: excited for the new opportunities to come, excited for a new beginning, and excited that even if the change turns out to be a horrific disaster, in what was such an atypical move until recently but is now becoming a more typical part of my life, I invited and accepted change into my life.
And that, people who read my blog, is a beautiful fucking thing.
But you know what? I don't want to write about that anymore. I thought I did when I initially started this post, but in quintessential Kismet fashion, it's been days since I started writing, and those days have led me someplace else, and while that someplace else is kind of connected, it's also kind of not.
Let's go back a few weeks to a date I went on with a guy named Dan (who, incidentally, made fun of Blink-182 at the end of the night when I mentioned having had a Blink sticker on my car in the past and then, when I showed him the Blink-182 tattoo on my wrist, continued ridiculing them and then had the nerve to ask me out again. Like, dude. As if) who told me he had two autistic kids. When I got home that night, I mentioned to--my roommate? Super good friend? Boy who calls me Emo Madre? Substitute son?--Sam how lucky I am that both Griffin and Keifer are okay. That feeling has been reinforced many times in the past week since I started at my new school where I've been exposed to far more ESE students than I'm used to and then extra reinforced when I got an email about a student who just last year was diagnosed with a rare disease that's so uncommon, it's a disease most people probably don't know. If not for the fact that when I was eight or nine years old, a former classmate of mine had a heart attack and died not long after being diagnosed with it, I also wouldn't know.
I was thinking about that kid, who also happens to be autistic, on my way home from work today, and about his poor mom, which led to more thoughts of Griffin and Keifer and how lucky I am, and in a thought process you probably didn't expect, it led to my thinking about boys and sex (but let's come the fuck on. The vast majority of my thoughts lead to boys and sex. You can't be entirely shocked).
I thought about how even though I absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent know it to be ridiculously untrue and a wild overstatement caused by nothing more than dopamine and oxytocin induced by five-heart-rated sex, there might be an itty bitty, teeny tiny, microscopic, infinitesimal possibility that I might be the ittiest, bittiest, teeniest, tiniest, microscopickest, infinitesimallest bit in love although I think the diction I'm in the throes of a crush is probably a better choice of words. I thought about that, and I thought about how much happy it gives me, and I thought about how in the past, it would have given me lots of sad because in the past, I would have been all, What is this? and Why is this not _________? and Why does _____________? but now I'm all like, heart-eye emoji and, well, actually, that's it. I'm all like heart-emoji and nothing else.
Heart-eye emoji, full stop. That's motherfucking me.
And why is that me? And how does this connect to autistic kids and sick kids and the thought of young people dying?
There's so much bad in the world. So much. So much bad and so much sad, and at some point in my recent history, I've begun to pay less attention to the sad--in my immediate world, anyway--and acknowledge the good.
When Keifer first told me he wasn't going to college, I was upset, and when he first got a moon tattoo on his face, my initial reaction wasn't the best, but after reflecting on those things, I realized he was happy(ish) and healthy and living his life, and, really, what more could a parent want? I saw the good in his choices, and just like that, I was happy again.
When I was in my car thinking those sad thoughts today, the ones that led to the sex and the boys, I made a conscious decision to see the beauty in things instead of the flaws, to focus on that which makes my heart full instead of what could make it empty and while at that point in my car, thoughts of that which I find beautiful and that which makes my heart full veered in a direction we won't talk about, I suppose the notion behind the thought action actually does bring me back to the initial intent of this post and my leaving MHS.
When at first I put in for a transfer, I cried for days, and when I packed up my room and left? When I looked at my desk and saw this?
It was like the finale of a long-running TV show. As I walked out of the place where everybody knows my name and into an obscure spinoff, I certainly felt sad, but I felt excited, too: excited for the new opportunities to come, excited for a new beginning, and excited that even if the change turns out to be a horrific disaster, in what was such an atypical move until recently but is now becoming a more typical part of my life, I invited and accepted change into my life.
And that, people who read my blog, is a beautiful fucking thing.
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