‘Tis the season to determine one’s status, naughty or nice. I choose to be nice. I tried naughty, had some fun with it, and then grew tired of the momentary fulfillment. I collected some interesting memories, but most of them, have faded away. However, there is one that lingers on. It slips from my mind for months, even years at a time, but then, it reemerges when prompted by the simplest of means.
A few days ago, I had a very nice day. The weather was pleasant, so after a visit with my physical therapist, I decided to take my paperwork to the social security office to see if there was a chance that my deceased ex-husband may be nicer to me from the great beyond than he ever was when he was amongst the living. Long story short, I saw a YouTube video that suggested that I may qualify for survivor benefits. I had tried to find information online, but I couldn’t fill out a form without claiming that I was disabled, which I’m not, not yet at least. I tried to call the 800 number, I was 80th in line, according to the message, so I decided to visit the conveniently located office instead.
It was a quiet establishment, everyone was well behaved, the waiting room was tidy, it was a nice place to comfortably wait for my turn to speak to an agent in person. I sat still, and quietly read the screen flashing valuable information at the front of the room. During my hour long wait, I felt like I was meditating, taking note of not only the images on the information screen, but photos of missing children, the list of bingo-like numbers of whom was to be served next and oddly enough, a man sitting in front of me wearing a jacket, I’m almost certain my ex-husband had worn back in the day. Was he present somehow? Unlikely, but it was nice to think about the possibility that maybe, just maybe mind you, I meant something to him and he wished to make an appearance to keep me company during my wait.
When my number was called, I gathered my belongings and approached the window where a very nice man waited to hear my request. I began by saying, “This may sound crazy, but I saw this YouTube video, and…” I told him how I thought I might qualify for some sort of benefits because I met the criteria. He began to ask me a series of questions, and long story short, I make too much money to qualify. I told him, “Don’t ask, don’t get.” and thanked him for his time and wished him a nice day. All in all, it was a very nice hour, I didn’t feel like I had wasted my time at all. I acquired the information I was seeking and left feeling like I was fortunate that I didn’t qualify, because I am able to support myself. Life has taught me that valuable lesson. Hopefully, I will never be financially under someone’s thumb ever again, least of all, a spouse’s thumb.
I left the offices, holding doors open for people on the elevator and the entrance to the building. I always feel that it’s a nice thing to do for folks, period. I spent the rest of my day running errands and everywhere I went, folks were nice to me. I was nice to them at first meeting, but that doesn’t guarantee that they will be nice in return, but today, they were. Maybe it was the pleasant weather, but there was an energy that day that was palpable. My thoughts were positive and everywhere I went, I was able to accomplish my tasks with ease. Of course, I shared these events with my therapist that evening and I told him how wonderful it was to have a day where I felt comfortable, at ease with the world, and nice.
A couple of days later, I was still riding high on this nice wave of energy that was flowing through my life. When I lay down for the night, I usually turn the notifications on my phone off and only leave the ringer on. I figure if there is an emergency, someone will call me, not text me, but something told me to leave it on, at a very low volume. I recently did have a text in the middle of the night due to a credit card scam, maybe that was what I was sensing, hopefully, not. As I drifted off to sleep, wouldn’t you know, I received a text message. “Oh bother, please don’t let it be bad news.”, was what I thought as I reached for my phone. It was a message from Michael, someone I hadn’t heard from in three years, someone I’ve written about in my blog, about that long ago, someone I consider my “favorite drug”. He sent a simple message, “Drove past your hometown and thought of you. Hope you are well.” “Hometown?” Do you even remember where I live or are you referring to where I used to work? came to mind. “Hope you are well?” I thought, I should write back, “I died.”, but I didn’t and instead, I rolled over and fell asleep and for the first time in forever, I didn’t let the “drug” of Michael reaching out to me, course through my veins prompting me to beg for another “hit”.
In the morning, I reread the message from Michael. I wasn’t feeling particularly nice, but I didn’t want to be naughty or rude, either. I decided to text him a link to my blog with the thought, “If you’re really interested, you’ll read my blog and know more about me than you ever wanted to know.” As I pressed the “send” button, I worried that I was opening a can of worms, or an old wound, that I shouldn’t, but the deed was done. I was nice, I responded, and I felt peaceful for doing so. I didn’t get all wound up wondering if he would respond, how he would respond or if I should have written something more. No, maybe my days of addiction are over, cool.
I went about my morning, wondering if I should tell my friends what I had done. No one liked Michael, in a nutshell, it was a very toxic relationship, one that always left me feeling less worthy. I knew, in my heart, that he and I could never be, but it was so much fun to pretend that somehow, somewhere, we could live happily ever after. Three hours later, he texted back a “Loved” to my blog link and sent me a picture of himself doing something awesome, per usual. In another world, a different timeline, he would be the perfect guy for me, but his variations of the truth, are not good for me, enough said. I wrote back, “Nice!” and meant it. Thirty minutes later, he wrote that he hopes that I heal fast from my injury. Nice, he read the blog, or at least one of my stories. I thanked him and he acknowledged it with a “Liked”. That’s where the story ends and you know what, I’m good with that.
During today, I did go through a roller coaster ride thinking about Michael. He looked good in the pic he sent me, and me, I don’t look like I did eighteen years ago when we first met. Like Cher, I looked good in my forties, but my head wasn’t screwed on straight. I did some things, some things I would never do again, but I’m glad for the experiences and the some of the memories I made along the way. When I was done with riding low today, I thought of my favorite memory of Michael. It was a day we met at the nature center and just sat in his car. With my back to him, he held me in his arms and we talked and for a moment, all was right with my world. I felt safe, I felt loved, it felt nice. In that moment, it even felt real, but it never really was and I knew, it never could be, but I had so much fun pretending. It was a lie I choose to live with, then, but not now, and that’s okay. I have a nice memory to cherish and hopefully, I always will. Nice.
#thelieswechoosetolifewith
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