Then the "teacher" came around, and was looking for some papers in relation to it, which I had also grabbed inadvertently. I felt bad then, more than nervous. What I felt bad about, really, was not that I was the type of person who would do this, but I had created a whole hassle for myself. Now I would have to do all this hiding. This seemed very inadvisable, inconvenient, and put a whole damper on the "steal the money" thing.
I woke up feeling like I should scold someone. Umm, myself?? Then I began to think about my covert tendencies. I hide things away regularly. We are not talking state secrets. Pieces of paper, hair bands, lipsticks--shoes. Shoes get squeezed under the back seat of my car. Like a squirrel, I burrow--just because. Or maybe not.
Empty bags get squashed underneath the not quite roomy driver's seat. Pieces of paper get stored in tiny pockets in my backpack. If my very organized, bordering on anal, husband (this is what opposites look like-us) threatens to help me by cleaning any of this up, he risks having his hands snapped off. My sense of internal chaos gets very edgy when it is threatened. All these things I store--turn up again. Like the disc my husband gave me the other day from 7 years ago. I have found all sorts of things years later this way. Precious things, things I planned to do something with, things I didn't want to deal with at the time, that I put into the "see now, deal with later" category.
I started thinking about how this relates to my state of my body now. I shoved all kinds of foods inside it, quickly and aggressively like I was hiding the evidence ASAP. And I have hidden aspects of myself that I found disquieting, unappealing, unlikeable. And then it all started pouring out. When I took my chastity vow of no sugar.
Well, not all. But lots of it. I remember seeing this woman in a cafe where I was writing. She was probably around 55. She came up to this much younger man, who she clearly knew from a past history, and he had the look. The look was "I don't want to talk to her, but I will suffer it." She began to talk about how she felt. It was not dignified, the way she poured it all out. She did not save face. He seemed to want to crawl under the chair, inside the wall--anything to get away from the open confession of another. It was as though she had a rank odor. You could clearly see it on his face. The disgust. And she continued undeterred.
I remember thinking, "What balls this woman has. She is making a complete ass of herself, opening and revealing all without a thought to how pathetic she looks. How weak she seems . How revealing." This is my future role model. I talk about my toe, my weird tongue, my ugly rashes on my skin. Why make myself look ugly? Because it is too hard to keep shoving things in cubby holes. It is too much work to keep storing pieces of paper in bags, under things, in tiny corners. Those corners build up. I can blame my "organization challenge" on ADD. Definitely a characteristic of this syndrome. But I would like to go deeper, because I am fond of cliches and EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED.
I think that when I stop hiding my perceived ugliness, I will stop storing as much little pieces of paper. I will stop hiding things under the figurative bed. My mother used to find food I snuck in my drawers and under my bed. We weren't allowed to eat "bad" food, and I wanted it. So I snuck. The way I snuck ice cream alone in my apartment even when single, by eating without looking and cramming the empty container immediately in the trash.
If I stop hiding, my drawers might stay neat, and maybe my car will wash itself. Maybe not. But it sure makes life easier. Show your spots.
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