I just recently posted 6 facts about me and asked if you could pick the 5 truths and the 1 lie.
If you haven’t tried to guess yet, you should do that before reading this, because – SPOILERS AHEAD. You can visit that post by clicking here: https://rarasaur.wordpress.com/2013/11/22/1-interview-5-truths-1-lie/
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I was 5 years old the first time I was slapped, and it knocked me off the slide ladder. I stood up, intending to talk to her, and was slapped again. My temper was piqued by this and I shoved her. It was just a nudge, really, not even enough of a push to move her– but she sat down and started sobbing her eyes out. It was then that I learned that anyone who is emotional enough to slap you isn’t ready for reason, and isn’t deserving of an aggressive response either. The only thing you can do is give them time and walk away. I still have no idea why she slapped me.
5 years later, a girl at a birthday party slapped me on a dare. There were at least 40 kids in the room, and the dare said to slap someone. She didn’t even hesitate. She just marched over and let it loose.
Another two slaps came out in high school. They were angry slaps of the first variety and were unsurprisingly about boys.
7 years after that, a dear friend of mine would show me another kind of slap. I was crumpled under the table at a graduation event, having a panic attack about the fact that my dad was once again in the hospital. Far away colleges no longer seemed like a wise idea– someone had to be there for my siblings. After about three attempts to calm me down, including water to my face, she very pointedly slapped me. One, twice, thrice.
The next 6 happened over the course of 4 years in college. Twice at a community college, one time at an Ivy League, and three times at Christian universities. Slightly more surprisingly, 5 of these slaps were still about boys.
14 Slaps. True Story.
My second favorite pair of shoes ever. Don’t judge till you try them.
The last was an unrequited love situation and knocked me back so far that I fell into a ditch. It wasn’t my first time in a ditch so I knew the drill. The first time, I was 6 years old and waited patiently for my father– talking to a homeless woman who was also in the ditch. The second time, I went in after one of my purple Birkenstock sandals and was completely covered in thorns until my Little Brother rescued me and my shoe. Relatively speaking, it was neither the best nor worst ditch experience.
3 Ditches. True Story.
Luckily for me, it was very easy to move on. I was drawn to schools that had specific teachers and courses, and had no problem transferring in order to build the education of my dreams.
18 Schools. True Story.
Moving on came with new places, homes, and pets. I wasn’t a stranger to moving, since my parents actually enjoy doing so. Every time I moved somewhere, I’d make a claim that this would be the last place.
“I’ll die here.” I’d say, and go about making myself believe that– including putting up curtains and adopting cats. When it was time to move again– and it inevitably was– the sickly cats I so favored were never able to make the trip. I always found them a good home before going anywhere.
Through high school, I was able to keep 12 cats at a time because they lived on my roof and I was making enough money to support them. There were other cats who would scamper up there sometimes, but they didn’t lay claim to me. My cats would occasionally come indoors for snuggles and chit chat.
I have an incredibly low tolerance for cat meowling, so I always favor the quiet or short-syllable meowers. Siamese and black cats are known for their ability to hold a meow for a long time. It makes me a little crazy. I’ve fostered a few, for a short period of time during repairs at the local vet, and even the quiet ones are too noisy for me. It’s a little bigoted, but I feel like they’d eventually realize that I can’t stand the sounds they make– and that would be worse, right?
27 Cats. True Story.
When I moved, many of the cats were adopted by my boyfriends or guys-I-dated. 13 of my 30 proposals received a cat, and condolences. The others just got apologies.
I was looking to be married. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m a person who needs to be with others. I can survive on my own, but I don’t feel like I flourish. I need time to myself, and I need to be myself, but I don’t like being by myself. Still, I wasn’t about to marry someone just to be married, and I wasn’t going to shortchange someone who thought I was more than I really was. I also wasn’t quite ready to marry someone for the benefit of our careers.
In all of these cases, they deserved better. It was a weird stretch of years where my parents stopped even wanting to meet anyone I dated, even on date one– just from fear that they’d be asked for blessings. It was a combination of a lot of things. There was something in the air. I was part of a lot of really limited communities. I know how to make poached eggs.
Dave didn’t propose with a ring. Thank goodness.
I mostly associate those with heartbreak.
30 Proposals. True Story.
Back in the day…
It’ll be 7 years with Dave this December. We’ve had beautiful times and hard times, and some of those hard times have led us to downsize in the past years. We live in 100 square feet, and there simply aren’t room for books. We regularly check out books and I have a beautiful Nook that has the library of my dreams loaded onto its versatile little interface.
All of my other books have been donated or sold, though in truth I never had many hardback books. They’re beautiful, but too difficult to read in the bath– or anywhere, really.
As to other books, I only have 3 – the ones generously gifted from WordPress authors– Richard Levesque, Julianne Victoria, and Eric Timar. I consider it the start of a new collection. One day, I’ll have my books back, but until then– I am grateful for e-books and the generosity of the world!
Books – the Lie!
Daily Yoga for a Happy and Healthy Cat
Unfinished Business
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Thanks for playing, y’all! It was fun to get a glimpse into how you think. I’m sorry that the explanation isn’t more interesting! I picked my facts based on fun numbers not background stories.
Haikus for the winners are comin’ soon.
How many books do you own? How many pets have you had? After seeing my purple Birkenstock sandals, do you now see why I can’t be trusted with fashion decisions?
