Friday, March 03, 2006

#29 The Regrets

I am being hounded by entities from Hell. Not the terrible trio called the Furies, but rather a group I have named, the Regrets. They come upon me at times such as these when I am contemplating mistakes I have made in the week – in this case forgetting my mother’s birthday until she mentioned it, realizing that my composition class hasn’t understood half of my forty minute lecture, evidenced by their uncomprehending, blank stares, and noting that David has become somewhat manic and has been awake for thirty six hours straight. It is now that the Regrets arrive, well dressed, with perfect hair and nails, as always beaming happiness – the perfect daughter, who never forgets her mother’s birthday and always has enough money to buy her a memorable gift; the perfect instructor, always organized, witty, and easily understood; the perfect mother, watching as her son stands to the podium as valedictorian at his high school graduation. All the women I thought I might be, that I thought I could be. They torture me with their excellence in stark contrast to my reality. But wait, slightly behind and to the side stands one that one that cannot be one of the regrets. She is unkempt; her hair needs a cut and has been pushed back awkwardly – her clothes don’t quite match, are rumpled, and has cat hair and chalk dust on them. In her eyes there is not happiness, but neither is there despair. Instead there is a passion, a determination that vibrates through her being – she is far from perfect, but she has a weapon, a glittering pen that she uses to disperse the smiling regrets – as the being gets closer I realize – She is Me!

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