Stats at a glance say that I have 139 posts. A month ago I had just over 100. When I told a follower this, he did not believe me, unable to find them all. The posts cross 10 categories, some of which are ghosts (Sting Rays) and should either be addressed or eliminated. Another mystery is that of these posts, I am employing 428 tags, WTC! (What the c***!) How are that many tags possible? I guess I just keep making them like bad habits.
I am familiar with a variety of tags. Perhaps I should be more discriminating. Yes? Don’t get me wrong. Price tags, gift tags, name tags, labels both for good and bad. Tag-a-longs. I have had these in insecure, needy fourth grade students needing a glimpse of their own valued reflection in a same age someone on the playground. This sometimes preferably NOT ME. jk. Maybe in playing on a reflective January ice slick they find this friend. I have been one of these tags. Yes, even as an unwanted adult. I have also played phone tag and email tag. Sometimes this is fun. Sometimes all business.
Most recently though, I have been learning the language of Blog, and blog tags. I am not entirely fluent yet. No polyblogt. I just made that word up: polyglot+blog= polyblogt. I did have a very long Skype lesson on tags though. Off and on I get these right. Doesn’t seem like it should be this difficult, right?
Truth is I am the poster child for “Doing Things the Hard Way.” Playing tag for me is a lot like playing Keep Away, or Monkey in the Middle. I confuse the games too easily. The wrong thing sticks, and I’m stuck there for quite awhile. Some kids give up in tears. Not me. I jump up and down happily and wave until the game gets boring for the others. Then they leave. Sad reality. Social ineptness.
Occasionally, I find my way out of the haze by some stroke of luck, mostly by accident. Sometimes by a gift of Muse, or God, I get something right. I say or write something exquisite. Mostly this feels accidental. Still I rejoice in the moment regardless of how, or why it came to me. Ha ha. Tag, I’m it! Sometimes I really am IT!
I was reminded of this tag thing just this afternoon. My cartoon daughter, Delanie 🙂 climbed off the school bus, slammed the basement door, and fell up the stairs. I think this is wonder-full. She came straight to my bedside rubbing her knees and laughing,
At the same time, I scratched an itchy onion soup mix arm pit and realized a few things.
“Do you have any money?” she laughed.
“Um. Maybe. Dunno. I guess I should be in the shower. Are you ready to go get your friend’s birthday present?”
“About that… Kate and Cheyenne haven’t gotten theirs yet, and Kate’s mom…”
“Perfect. That will work out great, actually,” I said.
“Yeah, we can just go, and…. Are you okay?”
“Oh, here’s eleven dollars. That’s all I have. Sorry.”
“Great! What’s wrong with your arm pit?”
“Funny story,” I said, still scratching like a flea bitten dog.
Pause. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
“Last night, or maybe the night before, I was sleeping. I was tossing in fever, or hot flash, strangled by sheets and polar fleece and nightgowns, when I felt something under my arm.”
“What?” my daughter asked.
“Nah?! There aren’t any ticks this time of year!”
“You’re right. Ha ha ha.”
“Well? How about long story short?”
“Well. I have this skin tag.”
“What do you mean?”
Well, I had a moment.”
“Mom, you have a lot of those.”
“What I mean is…I had a sudden split second of clarity.” Big grin.
“What do you mean? Did you hear a voice again!?”
“I mean, I thought, what if….in a state of half asleep, semi-anesthesia cloud, I just YANKED THE SUCKER OFF?”
“I thought, what if I just pulled it off. And so I did.”
“You what?! You really pulled it off?! Didn’t Suni go to the doctor for that? Didn’t a doctor numb it up first?”
“Yes, and yes. She did go to the doctor. She’s had things removed and she’s had things implanted. And yes! I did pull it off. No doctor for me.”
“That’s crazy, mom!”
“I thought so too, in feeling the little ball of flesh between my fingers.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you bleed? Did you go look in the mirror? Did it hurt?”
I just lay there. Dabbing at the spot. Wondering if I was feeling blood or just sweat….and then I flicked it like a booger.”
“I flicked it. What did you expect me to do, scrap book it!?”
“No. It’s just…That’s so gross. I gotta go.” And then she was off to her friends.
“It’s just sooooo itchy now.” I trailed off no longer possessing an audience.
I get it. This is one of those crazy stories that will just sit there unappreciated. Go figure.
Okay. So in this lowly, body thing. In this thing that most normal folks would never, EVER mention, much less write about, I found MEANING. Yep. I thought, here’s a thing that I have looked at, frowned at, disgusted over for years. Like a bad habit, I have ignored it, played with it, almost worshiped it, in allowing it to remain unresolved. Thought of shaving it off a million times in girly hygiene. But didn’t.
Why? For fear, for laziness, for apathy, for lack of vanity. For heavens sake. Thinking, “Why can’t you just love your body the way it is!? Huh?” In that same instance thought of boob jobs, too.
And then one day…the number’s up. You yank the sucker off. Skin tag, that is.
For no reason at all, you can suddenly just look a difficult thing in the face and be done with it. Actually I had my eyes closed. And I’m convinced I was in an altered state of mind. I honestly can’t believe I did this thing.
Now all there is left to do is to make a mental note of other bad habits and addictions I coddle. Maybe on some other strange, or blessed day, or night I will wake up and come to terms with other TAGS too. Or not. Ew, gross!