Yeah, one of those days. You know the rain it pouring, the sun doesn’t seem like it’s anywhere in sight and you’re just really in a crappy mood. You wake up, wash the crap from your face and proceed to start your day. Everything is perfect otherwise, everything is in it’s place. You’ve got a fantastic home, a fantastic partner, a fantastic car. What could possibly go wrong?
I love CVS, perhaps it’s because I’m ADD and can’t concentrate on one thing for more than about three minutes. Take for instance shoe shopping, if I don’t find what I need almost immediately forget it. I’m not hanging around and trying on a million different ones. I’m not going to look and try on different styles. I know what I like, if I don’t see it I’m not going to try and talk myself into something else. It’s not who I am. I get bored, I leave. CVS, however, is different. I can look at something, say oscillating fans, get bored, walk ten paces and suddenly be looking at the wine selection. It’s fantastic, you can spend hours in the CVS and not get bored.
Anyways, it’s where I end up when my thoughts aren’t exactly pure – when I need to be distracted. It’s a great place, and this morning it was suiting. I got my goodies and was about ready to make a clean getaway with a nice clear mind until I saw the cover of the Star magazine. Graced on the cover were sickened celebrities and in big yellow words it read “Hollywood Eating Disorders”. The images were sickning, but at the same time they were all too familiar. They were me in every way shape and form, and it made me angry.
Not only did it seem like this magazine was showing off the fact that these poor people will put their bodies through such abuse, but they make it seem like it’s contained to Hollywood. Beyond that, these celebrities are who lots of people look up to. These are the role models for our kids, these are who we’re supposed to be. That’s who I was and I guess still am; big difference is that I don’t make millions of dollars doing so. Being screwy like them got me nowhere, and for them it gets them on the cover of a magazine. What gives, I wonder, I want to be on a magazine. Damn it, put me on a magazine for healthy people.
So, with this frustration I got to the parking lot and looked at my car, my savior, my little buddy. The rain ran from the hood almost resembling little tears. It was sweet, almost like the car was feeling my pain. The thoughts were racing, and of course, my car always wants to race. So, race we did. Up Altamont, up Paris Mountain. Up to the very tippy top to see the view.
There wasn’t one, remember, it was raining. The great thing about making the climb up Altamont, however, doesn’t necessarily have to be the view from the top. The curves, the camber and the Jersey barriers. All things to grab your mind and make you pay full attention to what you’re doing. The view sucks anyways, but it’s the getting there that’s worth while.
Remember, it was raining. Racing and raining don’t necessarily go hand in hand – and I wasn’t going to risk it. I drove like an old lady, up the mountain, down the other side and reflected on it all. Of course, snapping a few pictures from the top. I love pictures, they say all the things I don’t know how to form into sentences. I looked back on the pictures and the picture of the car in front of the graffiti really reminds me of the mess that my mind can be when dealing with difficult things. If you focus on one part of it you can figure out what it is, however when you look at it as a whole it makes no sense whatsoever.
And then the fog – always foggy, but without hope, you’ll never expect the sun to shine again.