I've been on this earth for thirty-five years now.  You'd think I would have learned patience by now.  Goodness knows I've been in more than one situation that should have taught it to me... the hard way.  But as I grow older I'm realzing that I have less and less patience, tact, or the ability to keep my mouth shut when I lose my temper.

When I was in high school, I was your stereotypical prep.  I was a prissy perfectionist.  The girl half the kids wanted to hang out with to feel popular and the other half wanted to choke me silly because I thought I was so much better than them.  That's how it looked, anyway.  The reality was, the "popular" kids only hang out in cliques the way they do because they see each other as competition, and it's better to keep your enemies closer, etc.  And if the back of the schoolyard kids really knew how insecure I was, and how unworthy I always felt they'd have had a field day with it, no doubt. 

But back then, I could paint on a smile and talk my way through any situation.  I could fake concern and any number of emotions if it made a situation easier to handle.  I could sit for hours with people I hated and pretend they were my best friends. I know I could do it because I did it every day.  I could come home from an entire day of faking my entire life and spend the rest of the evening calmly and methodically cleaning up whatever catastrophe my siblings or my mother had managed to cause.

It's no wonder I've gone all over the world looking for geographical cures to my broken world.  And the irony of it all is that I found myself right back here stuffing my square peg life into the circle slot of this world I fought so hard to escape.

With one exception.  I no longer have the ability to bullshit anyone.  I have no patience or shallow understanding to hand anyone.  I don't stroke my siblings' bruised egos.  I don't cushion my mother's hysterical plummits from sky high emotions.  I don't break myself apart "hiding" ugly truths from my dad so that he has "less" to deal with. 

I can no longer serve my sarcasm with a teaspoon of sugar.  You get it raw, straight, and without a glass of water to wash it down.

When I questioned my mother recently as to why my skillet-licking sister-in-law never pulls any of her tricks around me my mother very calmly and exactly stated, "She's afraid of you."

My brother came home from the hospital yesterday.  YAY, right?  Only sort of... they didn't want him to but could not explain why it would be better to stay another day, so they let him come home.  He's a miracle as I've stated before.  However, there is one area that is causing concern.  His white blood count is off the page, and they can't figure out why.  They've ran every test possible and can't find anything.  Apparently there's an infection but they can't find it.  So after calling several leading infectious disease specialists and a host of other places, including the CDC, they sent him on with prescriptions for some really strong medications.  Just the two antibiotics were well over $100.  And there were a host of other medications that he had to have.  The doctor's advice was that if this illusive infection were to actually rear its ugly head and settle into my brother's chest there is nothing they will be able to do for him.  He doesn't have medical insurance, and he's broke. 

Sooooo after getting his prescriptions filled I took them to him and sat down beside him to tell him everything that he needed to know about them.  I went to the pharmacy in town that is part of the retail chain Terry works for, and after finding out that I have "connections" the Pharmacist was beyond helpful.  I'm not saying he wouldn't have been, anyway, but I do believe he put forth an extra effort for me.  He was very detailed in his instructions especially on the antibiotics.  When I was telling my brother about them and writing down the instructions so that he would understand after I left, he was asking questions and concentrating very hard to make sure he understood me.  I could tell he was glad to be home and feeling more in control of what was going on around him.  He's a man.  It did him good just to feel like he was back in control of his own body a bit more. 

And then in swoops the big bitch of an albatrose known as his wife... snapping things away from him demanding that I tell her instead.  She can thank God that my brother was sitting there and had just come back from the brink of death because had I not had him on my mind, I'd have crushed her skull with the big ugly lamp sitting by my side.  What I did instead was smile politely and inform her that he had just recovered from open heart surgery.  In no way was his brain damaged.  He's a grown man with the sense to tie his own shoes and that if he wanted her to know anything he could tell her later, but at the moment I was discussing his treatment plan with him and I needed her to go into the other room and wait because having her stand that close to me was making me want to throw up.

I made her cry.

He took me out into his garage and hugged me... teared up from appreciation for having me buy his medications... and he insisted I take home a very pretty rocking chair that he'd made from beautiful hickory wood right before he became sick.  He said that he had originally made it for himself, but after finishing it, he could see me sitting in it and knitting.  I'm so proud of that simple little chair.  He insisted it wasn't nice enough to be inside... that it should be on the porch.  I told him that he's crazy!  It's my treasure, and it will go inside the house.  He has only just started his woodworking, but he's very good at it.  I can't wait until he's well enough to go back to work at it.

I think part of gifting me the chair was to relieve some of his guilt over the expensive medicine, but I believe part of it was a prize for having told off his wife since he didn't have the energy because everyone can see that she's driving him crazy. 

Then today I asked my neighbor if the sleeping pills she gives her children every night because "they both have ADHD" are for them... or for her. 

Ten years ago I would have swallowed back the bile rising in my throat, bitten my tongue, and smiled through each situation.  Ten years ago I was a scared young woman afraid of breathing the wrong way.

Ten years is a long time...