Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
There are few times when I stroll down memory lane. I avoid that yellow brick road at all costs.
Most days.
I try to be a firm believer that the life you have is the life you are supposed to have. Not because of a god or the fates or anything spiritual; just an understanding between me and my particular time line of life that wherever you go, there you are (to quote Mr. Brady).
I have no desire to pine for things in the past. I have no energy to speculate what my life would be like if I had said “yes” to this choice or “no” to that one. My life may not be perfect in all respects but it is mine and I am proud of it.
Most days.
However, there are some days when I breathe deeply only to find the air traveling into my lungs sour. It is a distant memory that I have somehow choked down. Some smell of recognition lies in those fleeting and few-n-far between moments.
Today I had such a moment.
I almost dropped a tear at memories from long ago, almost two decades ago in fact, when my life was so utterly different from now that if I had a premonition of this life back then, I would have dismissed in immediately. I, of course, would have never been able to wrap my head around the fact that I live in Houston-fucking-Texas and have been married for well over a decade. Nope, I would have passed a hand in dismissal.
Not me, oh no.
Work in a law office where I am respected, admired and coveted by others? Not just “no” but “oh hellllll no”. Not me. The vicious person I used to be would never have been able to fathom such a life.
I some days wish for those old days.
Days when I wore plaid, button down shirts with the sleeves ripped out. Days when I wore long, super long, gypsy skirts with small bells on the ends. Days when the only choice worth fretting over was whether to wear the green tights with the symmetrical cigarette burns in them or the red ones. Days of when everything matched my Doc Martin waffle makers. Days when I spent hours deciding which hair color was next, blue or orange (blue was always my favorite).
Days when I worried not about bills or the political climate or new employee hires or terminations. Would have not even gather a guess with respect to the mortgage crisis or economic crisis or ANY crisis at’all. Days when all I thought of was when we were going to bar to play pool. Contemplating who was going to be humiliated in the war of words first. Days of when the only thing I worried about was where we were partying and, most importantly, who had beer money.
So, with that said, who’s got beer money?
