My daughter is hyper focused on middle school and being able to navigate the social structures of cool kids and everyone else. She is mad at me because I told her she’s staying put in her Catholic school, and not because they stayed loyal to us when the entire world shut down, but because middle school is hell on earth, and the only thing it’s good for is setting a benchmark for how awful people can be.
I informed her, “Anyone who enjoyed my middle school is in prison right now, or just getting out.” Middle school is when bullies have their time in the sun. Like some curious masochist, she doesn’t care, but lucky for her, I make the decisions. I told her “Enjoy the bubble of security I’m providing for you in lieu of driving a Tesla.”
I’m selling my house because I want to take the profits and buy a bigger house. While packing up our clutter I found a box of childhood treasures. My middle school photo album was cheery, but flipping through the pages I remembered what a smiley, brace-face, chubby kid I was. Like a non-threatening puppy to a miserable violent drunk, I had a target on my front and back.
Our first weekend on the market, and my tiny bungalow is not as in demand as I thought it would be. I complained to my mom that I wasted a bunch of time packing all our stuff up, and she consoled me by saying, “At least you cleaned your house.”
That’s true, but what about all the hours I daydreamed about my next house; a three bedroom, two bath, with a swimming pool and long driveway my coachman uses when pulling us in our horse and carriage (it’s a Tesla). That time is gone.
After the big house cleaning, my boyfriend and I decided to do a body cleanse. We were going to only drink green juice for two days. I can’t tell you how it turned out because we broke by the evening of day one, thinking the starvation would ruin one of our few weekend nights together. Earlier in the day we bought movie tickets and the neighboring Jimboy’s Tacos was too much to resist. After eating dinner, we had a special gummy for dessert, and it came on like a mack truck.
What usually takes 45 minutes, only took 15. We walked to Hagen-Das after dinner, we’d already blown it, and I ordered an ice cream cone. Sitting on the bench, in the unfamiliar scene of a crowded pavilion, I knew I was high because I became uncomfortably paranoid I was licking my ice cream cone like some type of sex pervert in front of hundreds of people.
After that eternity, we walked into the the theater and inconspicuously headed to concessions for a diet coke. I didn’t talk, I just stood there, reading the menu board for five minutes. Feeling the relief of getting to sit on a recliner chair in a dark theater, I quickly walked to the escalators, and almost flung myself down the stairs going in the wrong directions. Now, I can’t tell you if the movie I saw was good, but the dark room and eyes forward was heavenly.
The next day I woke up feeling clear. It must be how people feel after rubbing their face off on the carpet during a Ayahuasca trip. I googled, “Does marijuana cause brain damage?” I didn't see any reassuring search results. The supposed growth from my mind altering experience could be minimal. The eye twitching that developed from the mounting stress of having to follow my kids around with a vacuum cleaner disappeared.
If my house sells, it sells, and if it doesn’t we still have a cozy bungalow. At least it isn't middle school. The greatest self-discovery is that I only like eating a gummy at home, when my boyfriend is next to me, so we can laugh to the TV for hours. And, of course, to only ever order ice cream in a cup.
