My cerebrum and I have concluded that I write better when I wake up 3 hours ahead of schedule with the faint hint of puttanesca running rampant in my mouth and a wine head ache/ “wait am I still a little drunk?” sort of feeling.
I’m going to make a somewhat scandalous statement: preconceived notions run the risk of ruining everything. They run the risk of never allowing people to exceed to their fullest potential and they frequently allow people to harbor incorrect feelings towards individuals that could prospectively cause permanent damage to relationships of all kinds. Yet everyone has them and almost everyone has been subjected to a direct comparison.
In high school I was preconceived first as a geek, then as snob for not partaking in social events. I was neither of the two but rather a shy only child with the interaction skills of an eggplant. Throughout my young adult life I followed a preconceived notion that the James Bond film “Octopussy” was a film strictly serving the purpose of degrading women and didn’t see it until recently which in the words of Julia Roberts in the epic classic “Pretty Woman” was a “big mistake, huge.” I rather enjoyed Bond being assigned to the task of following a general who was consequently stealing jewels from the Russian government hence leading him to a wealthy Afghan prince, Kamal Khan, and his associate, Octopussy.
Which brings me to my latest conundrum also know as the sugar (you know what word I wish to use but I’ve already been asked by my mother not to swear when writing) you just have to deal with in life. Steve’s father is coming to visit for the summer. Brief recap: Steve’s dad lives in Florida and was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer on the very same day that Steve was admitted to the hospital. He has subsequently not been able to travel. They have been in close contact by the use of other technological outlets for as much allotted time as possible but they have not laid eyes, arms or smiles on each other since our wedding day.
Here in lies the rub, I have become very protective/defensive of Steve in the sense that I realize how far he has come and how much he has accomplished since first becoming sick, but I’m not sure his father does. I’m not sure if he comprehends the magnitude of Steve’s illness and the extent to which he has healed. Actually I could understand if he doesn’t recognize our reality because the entire experience was one that you had to actually see in order to truly believe.
When Steve sat up in a chair for the first time in over 3 months I saw a halo of bright light surrounding him. He was glowing. His hair had grown out and was the color of an Arch angel. I took a picture of him and sent it to everyone who could bask in the glory of this accomplishment. Steve’s dad included. People responded with popular and predictable retorts including Steve’s dad who told Steve that he looked sick. It was astute of him to acknowledge this observation and say it out loud but we already know he looks sick. He is sick. The point of the image was to show that he’s not as sick as he was 1 week ago and that’s worth reveling in.
Steve’s father if I may be frank (don’t call me Frank, Shirley) has an often harsh approach when expressing himself or his feelings of others. Here’s the Cliff Notes version of Steve’s dad’s life: he had 3 kids by the time he was 23, he worked as a prison guard since he was 19 and retired after 25 years of service due to an injury, he’s funny, trustworthy and a take control kind of person but I certainly wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.
Right now, I’m battling with the preconceived part of my brain that believes an argument or confrontation if inevitable and I’m not willing to let negative waves attempt to sink our sunset sailing ship. I’m tired of waves, I’m sea sick and I just want some smooth sailing.
Keeping it real. Real hoopty, that is.
1 day ago