stories

It Has Begun

Another year gone by, another January 1 present. BFD.

Here I am again because I said I would start writing again a couple months ago when I was complimented on my verbal musings. On the ‘for me’ side, this is therapy. It probably won’t be great to start as I’m gonna have to prime the pump again, but hopefully the stream will smooth out over time. I think that I’ll have to go back to writing prompts as well. Coming up with things on the daily was a lot easier when I left the house, but those days are long gone.

Hilariously, the prompt is “Practice Makes Perfect – talk about a talent you’d love to have but don’t.” Before I go through my self-deprecating list of talents I don’t have, we should clarify talent vs skill. Talent is what you’re naturally good at, so for me, that’s breathing. Skill is something you’re good at through practice. So, I try to believe I have some writing skills. That’s about where we land.

Now talents I’d like to have? Sheesh. Flexibility, because yeah, some people are naturally flexible. It would be cool to be able to sing or dance well. Is balance a talent? Is mental health? *laughs maniacally*

Can’t have what we can’t have, kids. I can’t have what I can’t have.

Spent some time perusing old posts to see if I already told this story, but I couldn’t find it and I need to fill up some space so here we go:

Back in the high school days, my only talent was probably narrowly avoiding getting in trouble. I was too much silly and too much energy and too other things and not enough something else. Being “gifted” gives you a certain amount of leeway (that completely fucks you later in life but that’s another story we all know about. read a meme) that kept me out of detention. I mean, that and a healthy fear of going home and explaining that.

As some things don’t change, my sense of humor then was similarly as fucked up as it is now. If it’s inappropriate and I’m not supposed to laugh, well, yeah, I’m gonna laugh.

Here I sit at a table with my friends in a class called Creative Meals & Childcare with a teacher with a slight lisp. I am pretty certain that I had come into the class wound up and the events that transpired were classic me.

For whatever reason, even though it’s fucking high school, we’re taking turns reading aloud from the book. The book. About childcare. And I’m a sophmore who’s 2 years younger than everyone else. And I have a giggle problem. Because I am a trouble magnet, I have been called on to read what’s next.

It’s the childcare portion of the class and we’re learning about changing diapers and safety. The paragraph I’m reading talks about how you always have to keep one hand on the baby so it doesn’t roll off the table. Did you laugh right there? Because I sure as fuck did in the class. The struggle was REAL to continue reading as the teacher asked me if I thought a baby falling off a table was funny. Of course it isn’t, but you asking me if it is, yeah, that’s funny. Just another incident of scooting by trouble and brushing all up against it but never getting in it.

I think that’s it for today. I feel a little better than I did when I started. Session concluded. Come back tomorrow (or whenever I manage to post again) for another trauma response or some erotica. You never know so you’ll just have to stay tuned.