You are not worth being Sandra.

Randomness.
Stream of thought.
Being a writing teacher, I feel I must apologize for the organization of this following post.  But this is how my mind is working right now, and like I always tell my students, once you know the rules, it's more acceptable to break them.

I never thought so before. I did not think there was a reason some people came into your life.  I never thought anything was related to destiny or fate or any other word that would hint at people not being completely in control of the path their lives take.

Before you.

This girl is wearing bright pink jeans.  This reminds me of the image of the 1980's I have formed in my mind.  I was only six years old at the end of the 80s, and even though I never wore crazy, kooky colored outfits, I still believe ALL OTHER PEOPLE must have.

You were there on the edge of my life.  I saw you. I noticed.  Time and distance screw everything up.  And me. I'm pretty good at that, too.

My mom once told me I would never amount to anything because I became pregnant at eighteen.  At the time, I was too hurt to ask her what she considered "amounting to anything" as looking like.  Silly that words from someone with a fraction of the motivation I have always possessed could cut so deeply.

I can't not think about you. I don't know how.  I cannot wake up in the morning without you on my mind. Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?  The sick feeling in my stomach started months ago when I found this song. I hate how much her words hurt.

I've never had anyone know my thoughts. My mind is constantly turning and twisting.  But you knew that.  How weird is that?  You made the ridiculous notion of soul mates make sense.

I think Pepe La Pew was onto something.  A cat is a skunk minus the stripe. 

My actions are not my own.  My future is not up to me.  We all know what would happen if it was up to me.

My mom was right.  I was just viewing her statement wrong.  A profession is not the only way to amount to something.

Some words are nice. Even if I can't hear them being said. Now I barely to get to read them.

No matter what, this will happen.  Isn't it crazy how I believed that?  Isn't it even more crazy that I wouldn't let some crazy person's ranting bother me?  I know how to smile and nod as well as stand my ground.  They can try to drag my name through the mud all they want; it's stain-guarded for those who really know me. 

My kids will be happy.  Mama's happiness is secondary.  She puts on a good show.  Dancing around the kitchen, cooking dinner, music blaring.  It even prevented the youngest from having a fake seizure on the kitchen floor from starving. Mom dancing=kid dancing.  Mom laughing=kids laughing.  Mom's heartbreaking=kids never knowing.

I'm not scared.  That's a lie. I am scared. But of completely different things than you.  I am not scared of things a bitter person may say.  I'm scared of these words being enough for me to stop mattering.

I would have changed mostly anything.  I'm not worth a fight.

You are not worth being Sandra.