Button Pushing Problem

It's what happens when you put a button in front of me. My finger gets twitchy and I just have to make a stab at it. I lock my car at least five times just because I like pressing the lock button. I probably hit the unlock button four times.

When I set my alarm I hit the button to check it several times. In the morning I hit the snooze several times, but that is more in an effort NOT to get out of my cozy, warm bed.

I hit the elevator button even if it is already lit. You know, the more you hit it, the faster the elevator comes.

I like typing on keyboards that make a clicking sound, it has something to do with typing on an old fashioned typewriter.

Thank goodness most icons on the computer only respond to the double click...

Being Smart Enough

My whole life has been about proving myself. Born with dyslexia I never really cared much about what other people thought about me until I realized that I was different. I only knew I was different when one day papers from my backpack were thrown out the window of the school bus. Along with the throwing of the paper came the taunts, "you're stupid. You go to the stupid classes." The bus driver made me flag girl of the bus so I could sit behind her and read a book and never be bothered again.

It was then though that it dawned on me. The classes I went to as a child in elementary school weren't special in positive terms. I left the normal classroom every day away from the "normal" kids and went to my special (ed) classes.

If you were smart enough in the public school system in deep south MS you got to take a field trip every month to the high school for a program called IDEAS. I'm sure that stands for something really cool, but I can't remember. I can't remember, mainly because I was never allowed to take part in IDEAS.

In fifth grade, my fifth grade teacher (I do remember her name for many reasons, most of which are not favorable) pulled my mother aside and told her, "We think Josie's smart enough to take part in IDEAS now." As in, she has stayed in "normal" classes for a year now and functions quite "normally." My mother gave her THE look and replied, "Don't bother, we're putting her in Catholic school." My mother wasn't very keen on the public school's system of "normal" and "special" (as in not really special, just kind of stupid). In the Catholic school that I went to there were small classes and teachers worked harder not labeling students. I wasn't the stupid kid anymore. I was actually Bob's little sister. He did great things with his time there.

Just one more hurdle for me to jump. This time, armed with a confidence my mom passed along to me, I just put on my running shoes.

The World as a genre of Music

If real life could be any genre of music, I think I'd want to live in a country song. Though slightly dramatized and maybe a little too gut wrenching at times, country music talks about life, love, and happiness in ways that make you want to live in a small house surrounded by acres of grass and a white picket fence.

Happiness is family and living in the country and has nothing to do with driving an Escalade. Love, especially love lost, hurts in a way that makes finding the right one to love even more great. Life isn't always happy, but life is always complete with a wholeness that makes more sense with a country twang.

What scares me is life becoming more like a rap song. I close my eyes trying to imagine one rap song I'd want my life to become. The only images I see are tube tops, thongs, dark night clubs... I can't even get in to the men that come to mind. It is something straight out of a nightmare. Large dark rooms with strobe lights and flashing red and yellow spot lights. Incessantly loud music. What happened to the grass and the white picket fences? What happened to real life? What happened?

I like going to bars (not in tube tops... that's just not how I roll).

I like dancing in clubs.

I wouldn't want that for life. Hopefully life is a little more country than rap for me.

"It"

My brain is wandering. There isn't anything to do. The internet has lost it's appeal and I am sitting in a basement where the fluorescent glare combined with the glow of over 50 computers causes eye strain in ways I can't even describe.

This isn't the way it's supposed to be. I feel like this is "it." The "it" you feel resigned to do, but can't figure out why. The "it" you drive for hours to get to in the morning. The "it" that promotes recycled air and no sunlight. The "it" you can't bring yourself to hate, but you can't even begin to enjoy. Once upon a time "it" might have intrigued me, but I now know there is something out there I am supposed to be doing. "It" isn't this.

Sometimes I feel like a tiny ant in a huge ant hill. Everyone around me is going about their daily tasks and working just fine, but then there is me with my hands up screaming at the sky, "What about me?" This is the true feeling of being lost. I know where I am all the time. I'm at work, I'm in my car, I'm at home... But it is not a job I should be doing, I don't officially own my car yet, and it's my parents home.

I'm a guest in my own life. I'm between a here and there. Do I make roots here? What if I can't stay here? My feet are just beginning to sink a little deeper in the soil and every time I have to start over is getting harder and harder to pull them out.

Sickness

Being sick is like taking an unpleasant holiday. Many days you might wish to just lie in bed and do nothing, but when you are sick, you are actually forced by your body to just chill out. Most of the time, for me at least, I have a millions things I want to be doing instead of lying in bed. The grass is always greener right?

So here are some reasons being sick this time wasn't my cup of tea:
1.) My DVD player broke and daytime television is terrible.
2.) My head was so congested that I got motion sick just walking down the hall.
3.) My room is a mess (making me want to clean it) and my laundry needed to be done.
4.) I couldn't accomplish either of these activities because I'd break out in a cold/hot sweat.
5.) I felt like a useless waste of space.
6.) I actually cried about something I saw on TV... it wasn't sad.

Mainly, I wasn't so sick that I felt like I was going to die, it was more the dizzy feeling making my stomach upset and the throbbing pain in my head. So I felt like I should have been able to do something, but I couldn't muster the gusto to get it done.

I'm somewhat better now. I'm not dizzy at the very least.