Considering Everything, It’s a Miracle Things Turned Out As Well As They Did

Considering Everything, It’s a Miracle Things Turned Out As Well As They Did

Monday has become my social media day. That includes blogging. Did you know that Monday is the best day to post to WordPress? That’s what I’ve read, anyway, and maybe coincidentally, maybe not, I get the most views on Mondays.

Last week, I did some more research into nurturing an author’s platform, and I got some better ideas about what I should be doing. I sat down and made a plan for myself and that got me excited about my next steps.

The problem with my social media day is that I get sucked into time-consuming rabbit holes. First, it was the TV show Frasier. God, I loved that show, and I think that proves I’ve always been a nerd deep down inside.

Someone posted on Twitter about the closing of a drag and punk venue, The Pyramid Club, in the East Village. I’ve never gone in, but I’ve walked by it. I’m not a late-night person, by nature. Although, back when I visited NYC regularly, it wasn’t unusual for me to get home at 4 in the morning (I lived in Philly).

The article about the closing of The Pyramid Club said Nirvana did some of their earliest NYC gigs there, so pulled up some Nirvana on Youtube and rocked out a little bit.

In high school, my friend Jenny and I probably damaged our hearing by turning the volume up all the way on our Walkmen to decipher the lyrics. Only Kurt Cobain would write such ingenious lyrics, mumble them in the song, and then not include them in the liner notes.

Jenny pierced her own nose with a syringe and wore a plastic flower earring, instead of the usual small, sparkly stone. She kept it until she got a cold and was forced to take it out. By the time her cold was gone, the hole had healed shut.

When I think back to my younger years, I often wonder, “Why didn’t I take better care of my health?”

Back when I was in college, a normal day included six Mt. Dews (yes, I’m serious), and a family-sized back of M&M’s. I regularly pulled all-nighters to spend it on an entirely text-based internet. I did that because I could get away with it. I didn’t gain any weight. I somehow always got myself to class (the six Mt. Dews helped).

I also wonder why I didn’t study harder in school, why I didn’t make any effort to earn more money after I graduated, and why I didn’t stay out of toxic relationships (etc., etc.).

Listening to Nirvana brought it all back, though. It’s weird how music does that, isn’t it?

I was so self-destructive that it was only my intense fortitude that got me through college in the first place. No one taught me how to care for myself or helped me to plan for my future. I was a first-generation college student on both sides of my family, but that wasn’t even the main issue.

My biggest problem was that no one cared. They thought that college for me was a fantasy and that I’d be back burdening them with my existence soon enough. They’d completely underestimated my passion for getting away from them.

I came from a family of addicts, so I never drank or did drugs. I knew that addiction doesn’t only hurt the addict. It hurts everyone around the addict, too. So, while I didn’t care much about myself or my future, I wouldn’t inflict that on the people around me.

My childhood was followed by US college life (where binge drinking is the only kind of drinking people do), and I didn’t have much of a social life until after my first marriage ended.

So, I was in my late twenties before I realized that it was possible to drink responsibly. Who were these alien people who had one drink and then stopped?

It’s been so long that I keep forgetting where I came from. In the haze of my memory, rather than seeing myself as I was then, I superimpose my current self onto that previous self, and that’s why I wonder why I didn’t make better choices.

I’m so far removed from that weird grungy girl with too many piercings and a manic panic bathroom dye job. Who was she?

Considering everything, it’s a miracle that things turned out as well as they did.

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