Not Easy.

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When I was in second grade, I had this awful perm that I begged my mom for.

Be careful what you wish for.

But, I also had a teacher, who had the most amazingly long, silky, salt and peppered hair. I would watch it glisten in the halogen light when she would move and even though her clothes fit her three years before that, she had a mustache and she sounded like she was in pain when she spoke, I thought she was beautiful.
I wanted her hair and I remember thinking…when I get older, my hair will be amazing like hers and my life will be just fine.

Now…to clarify, in second grade, things where pretty damn good. But the fact that the fifth grade boys on the back of the bus would howl with laughter at my knee socks and Shera lunch kit, my best friend was a 13-year old girl who would rather smooch random neighborhood boys than talk to me, my mom refused to let me wear make-up and my leotard at ballet never made my lady parts look as good as my ample 19-year old instructor…all seemed to rock my world.

Alas, life was good.

When you get older…oddly enough, those kids of aforementioned problems, are almost a dream.

Things are rocking these days.
Life is more challenging than I bargained for
And my leotard still doesn’t make my lady parts look as good as my ample 19-year old instructor, circa ‘89.

It’s how you react when you are down…that’s what I have to keep thinking…that makes you a person.

I just want to be a good person.

Please.

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