There was a point in my youth, when I did everything with purpose. Where I placed my feet when I walked, how many sips I took out of the water fountain. Not that I haven't, at times, considered the entire sitch a bit obsessive-compulsive.... But in reality, I wanted to do everything with a purpose.
These days, I realize that purpose is called God's will in my life. But then... my age was 13 and Daddy taught us to not be afraid of superstitions. Still, I was. So everything I did -- Everything -- was in multiples of thirteen. (I can't believe I just confessed that, but I did so live with it!). Imagine how debilitating that would be to a girl who was gawky, too tall, a little chubby, and infinitely unpopular? Everything about me shouted GEEK. Even my twinbie thought I was a geek. And not a smart one.
(As a curious aside to anyone who wonders how and why I push myself so hard to succeed? On account of because of the childhood of ruthless fun-makers of whose jokes I seemed, always, to be the butt. Look at where they are now. And look at me. Heh.).
So I was thinking how much I wanted my life to mean something by my movements, and how pi$$ed off I was, because Momma didn't enroll me in ballet classes. I could've been a ballerina! I just know it!
Like a virgin?
Try Ninja. There were times that I would place my hands in ways that were quite ninja-like as I walked down the lane at Mom's and Dad's farm. The height of cool looking purposeful movement of my youth. What about now? Well, about 5 years ago, Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict. The way they navigated their ships. I ache. I ACHE with yearning to be that pilot!
The moral of the story is that it's important to have your movements be meaningful. There was a time not so long ago when I was loath to move. I was a big fat slob and I knew it. Now I move because I am running from something -- being unhealthy and being unhappy and being fat and having heart disease.
So the next time someone tells me that they only run when something is chasing them... try picturing the grim reaper with your death at hand. That's what will happen if you don't take care of the bod that God gave ya!
Anyways, the point is that inasmuch as I despise interpretive dance... I probably am an interpretive dancer, deep down in my heart.
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I don't remember doing things in multiples of 13's but I do remember the handshakes and the "I forgive you, do you forgive me's" before bed, and the "bless Mom and Dad and even Jeffy's".
How funny that you mention the Ninja thing. Just yesterday I was thinking about when we were 11 or 12ish, remember on The Guiding Light how Brandon was a member of a Gang? Remember the girl with punked out hair that was really messy? I wanted to be her so bad.
I thought I was mega-tough, and my gang name was gonna be "Switchblade". Ooh yeah. Because I could turn from super gawky-geek, and by putting on a too-tight shirt to show off my pathetic-small boobies, and messing up my hair really bad, and weilding Daddy's little jackknife, somehow I became dangerous, sexy, and mysterious.
The thing I regret most? Making you feel bad about being you. I look up to you, and you must know that. ily
Jay
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