The truth is, I miss my old psychologist very, very much. “George” was my favourite psych and ‘worked’ with me for a solid 3 years. Over that time, we became friends because he started sharing his life with me which I thought was AWESOME because I got to hear how he was going. There was an exchange in our lives and I treasured it, you know. Like gold. ‘George’ and I both love gardening so would talk about the plants we were growing and the best seasons to plant different herbs and vegetables over text between sessions. “George” was taking some yoga classes and complained about them but with a twinkle in his eye so he was obviously enjoying them, bless him.
At one psych session, George leaned back in his chair, smiled across at me and said “You’re the centre of the universe in your world, huh?”
And it sounds incredibly vain, but I actually AM.
I’m the hero in ALL my stories and in MY universe, yeah – the planets revolve around me in a careful waltz and all the beautiful bright stars shine just for me.
I’m actually pretty narcissistic when I consider that.
But I also consider this – narcissists want to be the centre of OTHER PEOPLE’S universes – not just their own.
My narcissism is limited solely to my own crazy imagination.
When I was 5 years old and my baby brother came into existance. I was shunted bluntly and sharply OUT of the eye of the family. The family became Mom, Dad, Jay…and some weird ghostly shadow at the end of the house. Me. So that’s when I started becoming my OWN advocate. My OWN hero. My OWN friend, my own family, my own place of safety and my own cheerleader.
In my mind and heart, I AM LEGIT AWESOME.
But I don’t try to force that view on anyone else, and I think that’s an important difference.
I’m 45 in a week and I don’t think I’m any wiser or more capable than I was at 16. I’m still confused AF. I still don’t know what I’m doing. Next week, I’ll start a new job so I’ll be even more uneasy and unstable than I am right now…and I have to face another year of age and aging when really, I just want to colour in, eat lollies and be a kid again. I want to blow bubbles and skip, pick flowers, chase seagulls, splash in streams and catch tadpoles. I want to get on a pink bmx bike and feel like the entire world is mine again.
I stole a teaspoon a few months ago, you know. It was the cutest, tiniest spoon and came alongside the hot chocolate I’d ordered at a fancy cafe with my friend Chris. The so called ‘hot’ chocolate was COLD and horrible. So much for the fancy cafe – shame on them. The word “HOT” is even in the title of my drink, for goodness sakes! Anyway. Stealing. I was okay with taking that delightfully tiny, cute little teaspoon (I named him “Steven” – I’ll try to post a pic on here later) because I figured a fancy, expensive place wouldn’t notice one tiny spoon missing.
So I’m a thief. But I wasn’t sorry about stealing Steven. Not for a second.
I’m fine with stealing a teaspoon, but I’ll also run to catch up with someone who has dropped their wallet to return it. I walk little old ladies across the street and frown at any cars daring to rush her. I’ll happily let people in front of me in line at the store when they obviously have a lot less in their arms than I do in my basket and I’ll hold doors open for people behind me to let them in as often as possible. I’ll be purposely kind, sweet, honest and act with integrity as much as I can in as many situations as I can. My heart really wants to be a person Jesus would be proud of, but because I’ve spent so many years NOT going to Church *shame shame shame* and NOT reading my Bible (Sorry Lord), the ease of putting a tiny spoon into my handbag while laughing at a joke Chris has said was surprisingly fast, un-noticed (I hope?) and gave me a little thrill. When I stir my tea with Steven, I think “oh yes JD…you are badass”.
The other day, though – I stood in line at the Post office and asked for a ‘book of 10 stamps, please” so I could post letters to friends I love.
“Sure” and the guy slid across a ‘book’ of stamps.
Not wanting to hold up the line (behind me was a girl struggling to balance huge postage boxes in her arms), I moved quickly aside and found a bench so I could lay out all my lovingly hand-written letters (I absolutely LOVE sending letters to people I love) and could place stamps in every right-hand corner.
As I opened the book of stamps though, I saw that TWO had been entwined together. I had TWO books of stamps. 20 stamps!!!
I looked up at the Older Asian guy behind the counter, smiling as he gave the girl with the boxes a receipt.
It should have been as easy as waving the SECOND book of stamps at him, calling his attention to it “Sorry sir – you accidently gave me TWO books – have this one back”
I couldn’t do it.
I looked at my hand and it wouldn’t move.
I want to keep these.
Oh JD…you are disgraceful.
And minutes upon minutes ticked by.
That book of stamps is $10 worth of stamps you didn’t pay for, Missy. Just get back in line now that SO MUCH BLOODY TIME HAS PASSED and give them back.
They don’t belong to you.
But you know what I did? After another 20 agonising minutes of standing there and watching customers come and go…I slipped the extra stamps into my purse…and I left.
I stood OUTSIDE THE POST OFFICE another 10 MINUTES berating myself.
“Go back IN and give the stamps back, Janet!”
But my legs wouldn’t comply.
“They are not yours, you’re stealing. Give them back”
But I wanted to keep them.
I stood outside the Post office for SO LONG that day that my legs started to ache.
So I ended up walking away.
I STOLE STAMPS.
I was absolutely fine with stealing a teaspoon months ago – but this was a whole ‘nother level of theivery and this, I was not okay with.
I still have them. The stamps.
It’s 3 days later and I don’t know how to take them back but I know I must because I can’t sleep!
What is life?
So I guess I’m a little of this…and a little of that.
I think I am a hero but I also do villianous things like steal. I don’t pay full price for pistachios at Coles, I scan them in as dried apricots and pay A LOT LESS for them. I put my job on the line to defend a friend who was under racist attack, but I also stole a cute sugar jar from the table of a restaurant because I liked it so much. I donate monthly to worthy causes and Volunteer for the Salvation Army every Christmas to use my gift-wrapping talents to raise money for them – but on the other hand, if I ever saw Anne again, I’d happily shoot her point blank in the face for what she did to me all those years ago. Without hesitation and with a bit of indulgence, I’d pull that trigger and enjoy every damn second of it.
WHO ARE YOU, JD???
I don’t read my Bible, that’s true – but I do read ONE VERSE EVERY SINGLE DAY on the app on my phone that pops up with it and I try to reflect on that verse all day and honour God.
But on the other hand, I also wish death or at least horrible, long-lasting diarrhoea on people I hate.
And that’s the thing – I shouldn’t read Bible verses but at the same time GENUINELY HATE some people in this world.
I try to see the best in people and with people I love – oh they can do NO WRONG.
But when you cross me? It’s ON and I WILL take you down given the chance.
I need to take that book of stamps back. The more time passes, the more difficult it is but I have to do it so I can sleep again.
I don’t know why I steal and Lord Jesus, I’m sorry about it.
It is fun though, eh?
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