Yesterday was a lovely day with a little unpleasantness between the bookends of very good stuff.
You know the right side bookend: baseball lurrrrve rewarded. The left side bookend was a party thrown by one of my massage school classmates, a reunion of sorts. A good half of my class showed up. And, as always when I see or speak to a friend from school, I am struck with how very much I miss them all, goddammit. It's kind of funny how much we bonded with each other, unless you realize what our massage school experience was--the same people together in all the same classes for a year and a half, during which we were constantly touching each other.
Now, you don't go to massage school unless you like touching other people. Or, if you do, you don't stay long. A certain tactile predilection is necessary. But there's also somewhat of a necessary predilection for empathy, an awareness of other people's energies, a basic kindness. The vast majority of my classmates have, I guess I'd say, good hearts and they know how to use them. (Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm malevolent, not Mother Theresa. But there's a bad penny in every change jar.) So, for a group of people who were together a lot for a year and a half, there was very little draaaama and much love. I miss 'em, and that's not just the rosewater mango martinis talking, 'cause I'm all sobered up now.
(In a related tangent, a friend who will remain nameless told me the other day that he was thinking of writing to this woman on JDate but hesitated because she was the manager of a massage clinic, until he remembered, oh, yeah, I know Andrea and she's not a New Age fruit loop who lives on wheat grass juice and asks to balance your chakras. Heh.)
The unpleasantness is that, upon arriving home from the party and preparing to watch the end of the game, my dad said something craptastic to me, solely because he was upset I went out two nights in a row. (You can't fucking make this shit up. Oy.) Usually I'm really good with ignoring shitty remarks that people make because of their own issues--if there's one good thing with living through one's offspring's puberty, it's that it'll teach you that skill--but maybe because I'd come home in such a happy mood or maybe because I had the slight buzz going, I let it bother me. It made watching the Sox win slightly less fun than it should have been.
It was still fun, though.
I only wish I'd bought a sofa, eh?
xoxo
2 comments:
1. I can relate to the spaced-out looks most team members gave the media when they got off the buses at Fenway. Awesome yes, but can we all get some fricken sleep now?
2. There's this bit of drivel floating around that says you should be nice to (and put up with) your parents, because you'll miss them when they're gone. Well maybe. Mine have been gone 13 and 17 years respectively, and I'm not sure I miss them yet. (For the record, I had to sit here and tot up those numbers.)
All I want is the grace to be the sort of parent who *is* missed. Sometimes that means having to make up when I've been a jerk. Hope your dad does, because it sounds like he's had his good moments.
Oh, I'll definitely miss him when he's gone. That doesn't mean I don't *occasionally* want to hit him in the head with a shovel now. :-)
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