I was born a perfectionist. No one plans on this; it is simply a genetic thing. It didn’t help that I was the eldest child and that my grandmother helped to toilet train me. At nine months, I had it down. I also spoke my first sentence at 9 months. My grandparents raised English bulldogs and one named Shine had disappeared. Apparently I knew this, because I said, “Shine gone!”
According to my parents, I called the kitchen the “kitchroom,” which made perfect sense to me. And one day on the toilet, I told my mother “My stomach has a headache.”
I also had an imaginary friend that I called “Bop Boobin.” I don’t remember him, but I was told I had many one-sided conversations with him.
Fast-forward to today. I am having cataract surgery on Wednesday. True to form, I am getting everything done ahead of time. We will not run out of groceries or anything essential. My genes have seen to that.
The true things about me run very deep, as they do in all of us. I write because I breathe. It is that easy for me. I know what to write about and when. I know people to an amazing degree, which causes me to mostly stay away from them. You see, I was also born an introvert and I know not to waste my energy in pretense. It’s all I can do to stay honest. Honesty is also one of my rather distressing virtues. I have learned to tone it down. Otherwise, hordes of people would be angry with me. I see everything, whether I want to or not.
I used to think my writing was good enough for me to sell a considerable number of books. I was definitely wrong about that. I only sell to people that find me through the grapevine, which is a very mysterious thing.
I am also a born loner. I wish to have lots of friends, but I truly am not accommodating enough to put up with people on a regular basis. I much prefer writing and contemplating the essential truths of life. There is no free will and there is no free lunch. God is not recognizable. If He were, I would have drawn a picture of him. Then again, I am a terrible artist.
I make people laugh. When I was 21, I had a benign nodule removed from my breast. In those days, they told people that if they found that the frozen biopsy was malignant, they would remove the entire breast then! Lucky for me, I woke up with both breasts intact and just as small as ever. My mother tells the story of how an intern came in and asked me if I could gauge the size of the growth and I said it was about the size of a walnut. To which my mother replied in an aside to me, “Your whole breast is the size of a walnut!”
Yep, I know how to make people laugh. As I lay in the hospital bed, my mother’s friend popped in for a visit. I didn’t know what to say, so I looked at a brown spot on the ugly pale green wall and said, “I guess that’s where the shit hit the fan.” And I write that way to this day. If you like hearing from perfectionistic loners, I’m your gal.