Wednesday, June 18, 2008

"It"

"Your sister tried for years and she hasn't done 'it'." The words haunt me. Mock me. Subtly assuring me that I was right all along. I don't measure up. I will never be as good as them.
It doesn't matter that I spent four years studying "it". It doesn't matter that I did "it" as an internship. It doesn't matter that I received scholarship for "it"... twice. All that matters is that she my sister tried "it" and is still struggling to make "it" work.

The unspoken message screams at me. Asking what makes me think I can be successful at "it" if she hasn't? It obtrusively insinuates, no flat out states that she is better than I am and, in the process, stomps on any hope of ever measuring up.

They were only spoken once, but those words still Inger. Whispering doubt. Laughing at me for wasting four years of my time. Shaming me for wasting my money and theirs. Snickering behind my back at any attempt to prove them wrong.

And I realise that the voice is right. If I allow one carelessly spoken statement to hold me back from "it", then how was I ever foolish enough to think that I could make a dream come true?

Monday, June 16, 2008

I Miss You.

My Husband and I were talking tonight and he mentioned how much he enjoyed something I wrote for him a long time. A life time ago. When we were first married. So, for him, here it is.

I miss you. Did you know that? I miss you when I am work. I miss you while I'm cooking dinner. I miss you while we are sitting next to each other on the sofa watching TV. I miss you at night while you are holding me in bed. It sounds foolish when I say it out loud. But it is real none the less. There are times when I am surprised that you can hold me so tight. I feel as though there is something between us. It's not a wall. If it is a wall I wouldn't be able to see you or touch you. No it's not a wall. It's a fence. It is a fence that allows me to look over and see you. You are on the happy side. You are on the side I want to be on. I can touch you to. I can reach over the fence and hold your hand. I can graze you with my finger tips. But ever time I try to pull you close that fence gets in the way.
I miss you. Did you know that? I miss you so much I've thought about climbing the fence. I've even tried. But I keep falling down and scraping up my knees. Once or twice I thought I found the gate. But when I pushed it was only a loose board, taunting me with glimpses of the other side. But to tight to wiggle through.
I miss you. Did you know that? I hate myself for building this fence. I know it's my fault. I built it to keep me safe. It was supposed to keep every one else out. Not you. I don't remember burying the key.
I miss you. Did you know that?