Being unique sucks ass

There are not many times I hate the way I walk. Sure it sucks to trip so easily; sure it sucks that I can’t mountain climb (something I've always wanted to do); and sure charlie-horse hurt me so bad that it feels like I’m being stabbed by a knife – but for the most part I don’t care about the whole walking-funny thing. I always figure if people care then F-them. However, there are those rare times when I’ve had enough. Where I hate my walking because it makes me stand out - for a reason that does not encompass who I am or what I’m about. Like the fact that people will know me from some random place and they’ll feel the need to mention this and freak me out because I have no recollection of who they are or what they’re talking about. Then there’s the God Warriors who feel it is their duty to pray for me, to tell me how embracing God’s love will cure me and make me like them (which by the way – no thank you, I don’t want to be one of the pod people). Then there’s the people who have a need to make fun of me or say something snide as if by cutting me down they will some how increase their own self-worth.

I’ve dealt with all three of these types over this long weekend. And it’s made me feel somehow less of a person. It’s made me feel horrid and ashamed and I’m about to break.

For example here’s what put me over the edge this morning … I got free parking in front of my building in Seattle – good times too because I have to load up a mailing and drive it down to Olympia. I’m not even out of my car for five seconds, I’m actually still getting my bag out of my front seat when some guy runs out of Tully’s trying to get my attention. It seems that some homeless people were picnicking on my car the other day and he didn’t know what floor of the Harbor Building I worked on to tell me. I explained to him that it was okay if they were sitting on my car because they didn’t damage it and it’s downtown Seattle – so expect the unexpected. But he insisted on knowing my name and that he and the staff of Tully’s were wondering how to get a hold of me if they saw people on my car again. Okay I know what you’re thinking “Wow Christy this is so nice that people are looking out for you.” And it is but all I could think is how do you know I work in the Harbor Building? How do you know this is my car when I rarely park here?

Just for once I’d like to be remembered for my rack or my smile or something else physical for once. In college a footballer player on my floor would describe me as the brown-eyed girl who wore flower dresses with combat boots and I loved him for it.