Nobody Reads
I’m reading a book called Mastery, by Robert Green. And In it, he says you have to find basically what you love to do, what your good at and go all out to do it. Many know in childhood.
When I was a child, I wanted to be a brain surgion or a doctor. I’d spend hours cutting up and making fake skeletons, disecting dead fish that washed up on shore..OR..a nun. I know. I was VERY religious at 5.
But my parents discouraged me. I was expected to grow up, get married and be quiet. My brother was the sole attention getter in the family. He was …a star. My dad gave him trumpet lessons at 6, and he grew up to be a fantastic entertainer…he played trumpet..in a popular band in Chicago….so I think that’s why at 19, since there was no money to go to college, I taught myself the drums, how to sing, and like my brother became an entertainer.
Well. I did go six months to college to…and wanted to major in Philosophy. I was a big reader…I read everything everyday that I could. But…I dropped out and became a musician, not as popular as my brother but I made a living at it for years.
When my parents both had strokes, I retired from music to take care of them. It’s then that I started writing…I wrote because I simply had to. My brain was full of the political nonsense and the daily corruption I saw all around it. It was then I realized that I HAD to write. I saw that my ancestors, the Adams wrote every single day too, and when I read their words…I was home. I saw the very same thoughts that I would have in my sorry ass brain, written down word for word in their dairies.
Anyway, what’s sad, is its too late for me to have a career in writing. FIRST I’d have to really study the subject, and find the time: Second…I have way too many book in my head: I’d have a series: Nobody’s Perfect: (wow that’s a book I could fill up) Nobody Knows (another filled with obscure facts) Nobody Cares (Funny book) Nobody Wonders (yeah, I wonder alot) Anyway a series of Nobody Books, sort of in the vien of Chicken Soup for the Soul...but…in this day and age of book stores disappearing, none of them would be published. Only the very famous write and make money: Bill O’Rielly, Glenn Beck, Mark Levin…well…they can promote their own books. And even then, try to find them in the local book stores…conservatives are not welcomed.
I have to laugh. (Not snap…) Uh… little to late there honey.
So Mr. Greene says you have to find your calling when you are young. I wrote this to advise parents to try to find the thing your kids really love, and encourage them to go for it.
And if one is quiet…talk to them. You might find out what they REALLY want to do.
I’m still reading. And I will probably when I find the time, write those books…if only to get it out of my head.
If any of my readers know what they wanted to do as kid, please comment. I’d love to hear it.
(thanks for reading.)
Medusa At the Prom
Nobody Cares
Last week, I went to get my haircut. I don’t get it cut often, but by luck I found a place that actually knows how to care for long hair.
My hairdresser has two daughters, and she was telling me about her youngest one. She’s 17. Mom doesn’t quite know what to do with her. You see mom, married her high school sweetheart. Which means, mom never had to deal with much heartache when it came to men.
She said her daughter was horribly depressed because she keeps finding boyfriends, who break up with her and she cries like the world is ending. Mom is at a loss to know what to do. I told her, I was the same way when I was her age…longing for my true love. And deeply hurt every time some guy left. She showed me her picture: Very pretty girl.
I thought of MY poor mother and what she had to go through with me.
I’m setting this up for a memory. You see, I’m getting to the age now, when I’m looking back on my life and all it’s sorrows and happiness, my failures, my successes, and thinking to myself: I don’t think anyone has had the life you’ve had. Not many. So many tears…and what for?
Like my senior prom night. My parents I knew really wanted me to experience that passage of age, an age where mom and dad can buy the dress, tell their daughter how beautiful she looks, take the pictures…and watch her go out, hoping she has a wonderful time, dancing in the arms of someone she likes. Being with her friends.
Uh…mine didn’t exactly go that way. First, nobody asked me. Story of my life. I guess, men were scared of me for some unknown reason to myself at the time. It was 1970. The country was booming. My mother took me out and bought me a beautiful dress, because you see, I didn’t want to disappoint her. I told her, someone had asked me out.
It was a lie.
The night was approaching and what was I do to? I didn’t want to disappoint my parents.
There was only one guy in the high school that I had a sort of crush on. Why? He looked like Bob Dylan, only Bob Dylan was better looking. He never paid too much attention to me. I ALWAYS had a weak spot for the ‘intelligent’ guy, because I was a book worm and I THOUGHT the smart guys had answers I could not find in books.
That’s what an idiot I was. But I was always searching for answers…to everything. Just simple curiosity.
That has never gone away. When I can’t read, I go a bit nuts.
Finally, a day from the prom, I got the nerve up to ask this guy. (I can’t even remember his name) if he would take me to the prom. I told him my situation. Much to my surprise, he agreed.
He came to the door, old suit and tie, and didn’t even come in. My parents missed their “photo’ opportunity. We got in his car and I thanked him. He suggested, instead of going to the prom we go over to his house. What was I going to say? I wasn’t scared of him. He was all of 120 pounds.
When we got to his house, there were about 20 guys there. They all started drinking beer, talking and laughing, and there I was, just sitting there on his couch. All dressed up. They all had dirty old jeans on. They ALL ignored me. Finally, he came over and gave me a pill.
“Want to drop some acid?” He asked. Well, I had never tried that before. It was popular at the time. So, I said, “Okay.” Beats sitting here. After a while, I watched the guys making talk over some motorcycle, I was soooo bored, so I went downstairs into the basement of the house.
And then, the acid hit me. The room became one big nightmare. Floor disappearing, furniture looking huge, like Alice in Wonderland. I started to panic. I was scared. And the worst part of it was, I went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and I was…Medusa.
My long hair had become a vast bundle of slithering, snakes, weaving and thrashing about my head.
Good god. I was a monster.
I started screaming. Loudly. I fell on the basement floor. Kicking. Screaming.
I remember a bunch of guys ran down the stairs. I remember looking up at about ten young boys, trying to hold me down. Trying to calm me. Talking to me with great care.
On the good side, at least they didn’t do anything but try to help me.
I finally fell asleep. The boy woke me up.
Took me home. We didn’t say much on the way back.
When I walked in the door, my parents asked, “Well, did you have good time?”
‘Oh, yes! Yes! It was really great mom!”
And then I went to bed.
Now the emptiness you feel from such a nightmare, and at my age, I see, that I’m still that young woman. Like my hairdresser’s daughter. So sad inside.
WHY? Why would any young woman feel so needy that she would long so much for love?
Too much estrogen? Bad brain cells? Or…as I look back. No father?
My father was absent from my life. I think it was because I was “pretty” that he never told me I was. Never hugged me. Never told me to look for the true love. Never told me about boys or men at all.
So, Dad’s out there. If you have a daughter, and she’s pretty. Don’t be afraid to talk to her. Pretty girls are just as hungry for love as the ugly ones. In fact, it’s all about the love of a dad.
It wasn’t my dad’s fault. I don’t blame him. I was just SO full of hormones and silly ideas of love. I had read too many books.
What ever happened to …I’m pretty sure now that I think of it, his name was Harry.
Poor Harry. I’m sure he didn’t quite know what to do with me either.
He was nice enough to go along with the scam. And to his credit, he could have hurt me.
He didn’t.
We went back to ignoring each other.
So, what do I do with myself now? That same longing is still inside me. But hey.
NOBODY PERFECT. Life is not perfect. Everyone has a cross to bear. Some have more than one.
I am…and remain…a total mess. LOL. And I can live with that.
Because…you never know. Maybe some day I’ll go to the prom.
(She laughs.)
But hey let’s end on a good note to this strange life…there are ups and downs….
I got to see my son have the BEST prom moment ever, take a really pretty girl out, and I got the picture to treasure forever…there is a God after all.
Isn’t he handsome? Wasn’t she pretty? ah…youth.
Musk Goes to Asuchwitz
Nobody Knows: It was sad to watch. But a good thing to be brought up: We must not forget the thousands of years that Jews have been persecuted. They have gotten more Nobel prizes than any other group of people, and the Muslims surround that little tiny piece of land called Israell by the billions.
What have the modern Muslims brought to the world? You tell me.
So whose in the wrong here? The Muslims have wanted the Jews gone. For centuries. Dead basically.
And yet, Has Obama brought the Jews here? No, boatloads of Muslims, who are now protesting in our streets.
War is here, war is coming, and it seems only the brave will stand and fight.
And we better.
Musk also went to Poland. I had a Polish grandparents on my father’s side. Poland is a great country.
So today, I’m replaying the song below for Mrs.O. And myself. I am very sad today.
When I’m sad, I play sad songs, to get over it. And then, I get mad.
Watch out when I get mad. I usually get things done, and I’ve been ignoring myself and THOSE things for much too long.
Moses was our first real leader. God bless Musk again for taking the right stand.
It’s cold in the world right now. Winter is upon us all.
About
I am a nobody. If the different classes of America were color-coded, I would be in the yucky brown, one rung up from the bottom. I grew up in Naples, Florida and live near the Mississippi River now with my husband and two dogs. I am part of the slowly disappearing middle-class. I was a musician most of my life: drummer/singer/keyboards—but I retired before the plastic surgery flu hit. I have no degrees, which could be a good thing…depending on how you view our educational system. I do have three patents…but that really doesn’t make me a somebody. The one thing that is constant in my life is my OPINIONS, which i have more than perhaps even Carl Sagan could have imagined…mostly political. (yes…my ancestors were crabby buggers)
Hopefully other nobody’s will put their opinions on my site. But, if you happen to be a somebody, you’re more than welcomed to help out.
It’s my Nobody Opinion that Nobody’s Perfect, and Nobody Cares, that Nobody Knows why Nobody Wins, and when that happens, Nobody Wonders, why Nobody Flashes, why Nobody’s Fooled, but then Nobody remembers that Nobody ALWAYS Reports the truth.
You can email me at joyanna_adams@yahoo.com
Joyanna Adams
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