In Plain Sight

Sometimes I feel I need to put a disclaimer on my posts: WARNING! Active therapy session ahead. Proceed with caution! You will either be enlightened or find yourself needing a therapist of your own! 

I continue to write regardless. I honestly don't even know who reads this. For me, I feel as if every time I write, share a bit more of myself, I descend further down the high rise that is me. I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing: the knowing.

The Penthouse had quite a view, pretty, polished, not a single stain on those while walls. So perfectly fake, no one would ever guess how many times those walls have been repainted to keep the spots from seeping through . . . .

Floor 34 was a bit more disheveled. The types of messes typical to a place that is lived in casually. Books carelessly strewn about; the bed not always made; dishes in the sink, waiting to be washed. The bills tossed on the counter to be looked at another day. It was more of a storage room, though, than a home. The place where things were put to be handled later. If later every came . . . .

The 30th floor was a masterpiece. Running shoes by the door; gym clothes in a bag at the end of the hall; nearly completed homework on the counter. Music plays in the background: an upbeat tune that causes a person to move without realizing it. Books lie opened on the couch next to a basket of yarn and needles and an almost finish project. A glass of wine on the vanity, next to the crimson lipstick and darkest black eyeliner. A dress and heels in the closet waiting for the night. It's warm here, almost inviting. Almost, but not quite . . . .

Floors 19 to 29 are loud and messy. Toys litter the floors, bottles line the counter and a baby cries while toddlers beg for attention. Cartoons play in the background, but no one is really watching. Yesterday's laundry is waiting to be folded; it sits next to the laundry that is waiting to be done. Dinner cooks on the stove. A pen lays across freshly signed divorce papers . . . .

It's a peek inside of a life. Bits and pieces, sewn together into a haphazard story. Hiding . . . in plain sight. My motto has always been "Tell them enough to keep them interested; never tell them enough to let them in" Those missing pieces lie hidden in the basement, a lock keeping it all in place. Barely. The storage bin is overflowing and seeping out onto other spaces; onto Other's spaces. Spring cleaning seems a likelihood. It will most likely take until Fall. Possibly winter . . .

I hide in plain sight. Hoping to be seen, but never wanting to be noticed. I put on a show; my own One Act play. Starring me. Which character will I be today? The Achiever; The Party Girl; The Seductress; The Humanitarian; The Friend. Small bits revealed slowly. My mom always said I was the most genuine, real person she had ever known. Her words molded me into her greatest masterpiece and my own worst enemy . . .

I'd love to put this to rest with a happy ending. But that'd be another lie and I think I've told enough  lies to last a lifetime . . . .

And honestly, the scariest part now is delving into the points in time that hurt so much and dissect the words that I've been told . . . .

 . . . and learning to believe in myself even if no one else does.

Three More Semesters

I remember when I decided to start college. Erin was in preschool, the others in all day classes. My desire to be more was so strong. I had an Associates already, something done on a whim, with the idea that I should be a secretary, mom, and housewife and aim for nothing more.

But I couldn't.

I had to fight to enter school. And fight I did. I love that part of me: the fighter. The one who makes a way, even if it means busting through a wall after someone removed the ladder over it. But I digress. I handled all the details to keep everyone's life as untouched as possible by my desire to branch out, to grow, to follow my dreams.

And I walked onto campus, scared out of my closed little mind. I had defied the plans set out for me by everyone else and decided to forge my own path. Suddenly, Blue's Clues was replaced by studying, new authors, ideas, things that challenged me.

More changed over the next few semesters: I started to believe in myself. I held my head higher, didn't hide in the back of the class, hoping to be unnoticed. I was excelling and challenging myself. And it was amazing!

I had to take time off. This isn't the place for that story. All that matters on this page right now is that I am back.

Three Semesters Left.

And it scares me to death. Too soon, it's not going to be the safety of a classroom and papers to turn in and practice labs. It's going to be the Real World and seeing if I truly have what it takes to apply what I have learned.

This is when it's a bad thing that I am such a future thinker. I don't back to the past much, unless I need to understand if there is anything back there that is hindering my journey forward. And God knows, I rarely take the time to notice where I am now. My mind is almost always solidly focused ten steps ahead of where I am now.

This semester is different. I'm different. I'm no longer a naive housewife wanting to learn something new. I'm a grown woman now, fighting for my place in this world. And the sacrifices are many.

And I don't know why I am so nervous, so scared, right now. I know I know what I am doing. But I've signed up for my future with a Sharpie and there is no turning back. There is no other path to take. There is no Plan B. And it's all or nothing right now.

The letter of a acceptance has come in the mail, the classes have been signed up for, the books have been bought. I'm no longer just trying to this on for size, to see what I think. NO! I've bought the dress, had it altered and there is no returning it.

This is it.

No turning back.

I'm doing this.

And I'm aware of the sacrifices, what is required of me, the standards I have to live up to.

And I'm ready.

Scared shitless.

But ready nonetheless.

The cocoon is bursting open. I'm almost there.

And it's about time.

And sometimes, it's good to know that fear is not always a bad thing.