Wow. I was just looking back at the entries in that catalog of misses that I mentioned before. And it could all be summed up with just a few thoughts.

I miss not being able to miss stupid stuff like specific men who hurt me, or aspects of my life that were meant to change and evolve as I got older.

Jimminy crickets. Obviously this goes back to my old saying…people are only able to measure their lowest moments by their lowest experiences. I would not put it on a truck of comparison, of being able to measure pain in relation to physical or emotional strife. Such things are completely impossible.

But  honestly, I do sometimes want to put these jerks who stare me down on the train into my shoes to let them know that it is NOT okay to sit there in judgment, forming opinions which are ALWAYS wrong. I have been through it numerous times. People sit there and stare at my tattoos, and then notice my scars. And generally one of two things happens.:

They either look more disgusted thinking the tattoos go hand in hand with some kind of illicit drug use, which then caused me to require heart surgery. Or the more body modification educated think I put that shit there myself, like some kind of sick adornment. I am working on solving this problem, albeit slowly and carefully. But I really wish people would just reach up and insert their own eyeballs back into their heads, and realize shit is not always as we first assume it to be.

This fun exercise has obviously affected how I look at and relate to people. I never make judgments on people unless there is some action to warrant it. As in thinking someone is obnoxious because they are speaking loudly or gurgling their food with their mouths open. I would never look at someone who had scars or wounds as someone deserving it, as so many people do to me. Sometimes I am able to let it slide off, but on other occasions I want to drop a card on their table or hand it to them, reminding them that we are all out in public. And such stares and whispering are very equal to that thing our parents always tell us “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”.

Then again, I get irrational sometimes with the elderly, who make their opinions and views that much more obvious, Ethel leaving across Harriet’s lap to get a better of view of that “disgusting girl with all of that paint on her skin”. I should be more mature than they are. But my grandparents, who lived in the mountains of Colorado, whose biggest city experiences were in Denver, who wore cowboy hats and crocheted doilies never said an ill word to me or about me. As my grandmother put it, we are modern grandparents Deanna. We don’t judge people like that.

If only their lessons were learned by the rest of the crew, my feelings wouldn’t be sacrificed to make some grunting horrified observation.