Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues

A post started – and an accidental deletion

Sigh

I’m tired.  I finished the quilt tonight.  It felt like the end – of a big project, and of a friendship.  I’m sad.   I miss the days of calling each other every day, and talking for an hour.  I miss the time spent together.  I miss having someone to call friend.  
I remember how excited I was that day – when we got in the car after walking at the park – and I said to Max, “we have a friend!”   I had been so lonely – and fighting it – and denying it – because I chose this life, I chose to leave what I had known and come here and make a new life with my Bear.  I’ve been happy.  I’ve am loved.   My life is good.   

But I miss having a female friend.   I could say I don’t know how we drifted apart, but I do know.  It was after Duke died.  And after Zeke came along.   There’s been less and less time for me.  

So I thought about going back home this summer.   I thought about why I wanted to go back, and what it would cost, both monetarily and physically.  I can’t do it.  I don’t like that I can’t do it.  I could do the money part, we have no problems there, even thought I spend like a fool most days.   I just can’t do it – my chest hurts when I drive too much.  So that’s that.  

I never got picked when teams were being chosen.  I was the last one standing, the one that no one wanted, the one some team got stuck with.   I was the one they put in a position where I was gone quickly, back to the bench, back to the sidelines, back to watching the kids who could play sports, the kids who had friends, the kids who were normal.   

There was obviously something wrong with me. 

I made some friends when I moved here.  It’s been a few years. People I thought were really good friends seem to no longer have time for me.   

Something is still wrong with me.

And it still hurts

Tonight.  

I was having a half decent day.   Then I found out that one of my friends got a diagnosis of hemangiosarcoma on her Golden Retriever.   That’s a death sentence.  It may not be immediate, but it’s a death sentence nonetheless.

A few minutes later, a post popped up from a kid – well, that’s relative,she’s in her 30’s now – who used to work with me.   Her dad is dying.   He’s a nice man, who always made me laugh.   And not so very old.  

A few minutes later, another post popped up.   This one from a former student.   His mother in law passed away today.   I didn’t know her, but I still felt his sadness.

And I finally get a an answer to a text I sent this afternoon about a scheduled day with my bff – it appears that she’s not going to be able to make it.   

there was a little girl.   She was cute and sweet and loved everyone – and everyone loved her. And then she went to kindergarten.  

There was another girl in that room, one who stole her blocks and made the other kids laugh at her when she cried.   There were nice kids, too, but she remembered most the one who stole her blocks.  The teacher took her into the cloak room and knelt down in front of her, holding her hands tightly as she cried, and told her that she had to stop being a baby. But they were MY blocks, and that girl STOLE them and how come SHE didn’t get in trouble?  

I think that was the first time I was supposed to “get over it.”   I was four.   

Then came grade school.   The pattern was set  –  I was teacher’s pet, and the other kids hated me.   Words, always words, were used to hurt me.   I had funny clothes, and funny teeth, and my parents weren’t educated and I was teased, constantly.   But I loved school, I loved learning, and when I could read, and escape, it was all okay.

Junior High  – a new Hell.  Boys, suddenly, were way important.   I was just as interested as any other girl in my grade.  They, however, were not interested in me. except as someone to tease and torment.  No, Dude, I do not want to hold your johnson while you pee.   Hell, I didn’t even know what that was!

High School, and then college, were no better.   

We didn’t call it bullying.  I just wasn’t popular, I was weird, strange, homely, smelled bad – pick your words, any bad ones were applied to me.   We called it teased, picked on, and were told to get over it.

I thought I had.   I was wrong

I can make a post 

So.  Apparently it’s okay to post shit about someone on facebook as long as you block tthe person and they can’t see your posts.  Hey, you’re still posting shit!   

Cowardice – posting stuff that a person can’t defend against.  

Pissed off.  Yeah, that’s me.