Death

This evening I read an article about Angela Kukawski the money manager to the stars who just died. …She was only 55. 55! 55…

Good golly…

And then I realized on a personal not that, however horrifically she passed away, 55 for me is less than 20 years from now… 55 is too young to die and obviously her murder is absolutely vile…but 55 is still 55. I’m glad she wasn’t 25 even if she could have lived for another…30 years? 40 years? More? It’s obviously more than too bad she won’t live those decades longer.

And back to a personal level, in 30 years I’ll be 68. That’s a lot of time in some ways and also not really much at all…

I look younger than 38. And I think because of how ridiculous my life has been in some ways those 38 years seem more like 30. I feel like I should be turning 30 in a year or two not 40. But I am going to be 40 soon. Good grief.

You know…I think I’ve been focused, perhaps understandably, on the “craziness” of my supernatural experiences in the last few years in my writing for the last year of so…but…like I said, I’m actually a skeptical person by nature. So, perhaps I’m going down the the wrong path. At least, at this point. I don’t think it hurts to keep checking, so to speak, but…maybe the bigger question is: what do I need to get done?

Theoretically if I have roughly 30 years left of being Lacey alive…what do I need to accomplish? If I’m not insane and/or evil I’m already in connection with my soulmate. I’m excited to see him in person someday if it’s real…but…unless there’s reincarnation that’s it. At least…that’s potentially it (from a certain Christian theological perspective) and…I’m sure it’ll be otherworldly bliss. I’m not interested in something inane and cheap. But…ironically…given my upbringing…while I have seemingly darn good tastes, a relatively decent working knowledge of certain topics – despite my fascination with warfare and Polish history I’m not a pseudo-intellectual idiot like one, anxiety ridden, power hungry history professor labeled me in college – *sigh*…I don’t know certain things about myself. I know who I am… But understanding your internal essence is like having a fascination with Polish history at a pretentious semi-religious/semi-secular school in Pennsylvania in 2007. It’s…actually not a stupid thing to know about yourself but it’s also not what people expect, so to speak.

“You don’t understand! That’s what they study at research universities. You’re so selfish! You’re just some strange student coming into my office asking to research Polish history. No, I think you’re being really selfish. Just…listen-“

“I’m sorry I offended you.”

“I’m not offended! I just can’t understand why you’d want to study Polish history?!” screeched this hateful man with bitter, seething self-righteousness.

He hated me. Hated me. And why? “I’m not offended!” *eye-roll* Wow…

I think he hated me because I didn’t find him cool and he’d picked up on that vibe somehow… Because he probably wanted to screw me. Because he wanted control over how I processed history just like how he influenced all of his other students “Take my introduction to European history class!” he patronized me. “You don’t know that much about history! You say you know a little bit about history but I don’t think you do! No! And no there’s no way your advisor sent you here!” (she had). “She would never do that. I know her!” …Because he wanted to make me think the way he thought… Because…as a probably sexually frustrated, possibly psychologically screwed-up “adult” he hated people who he couldn’t control. Predict. Manipulate. Lie to. I pissed him off!! I wanted to study stupid Polish history! *eye-roll* And no one backed me up. Sure they felt “sorry for me” and my advisor apologized to me in private for the accident. “I thought he was your advisor.” she said. But they didn’t care that much despite how genuinely traumatic he made it…

(Yes. I’ve written about this before. But he almost brought me to tears. Me. To tears. It really was disgusting, psychologically abusive bullshit. And I was mostly just grossly patronized in response.)

What I need to finally figure out is why he thought he had the right to assume I didn’t understand that history has often been studied by culture in the 21st Century… What I need to figure out is why I can’t believe my own words that he just wanted sex from a female student and was too backward and misogynistic to know how to be anything but a bully about it. He wasn’t that unprofessional and “angsty” around most students… Why so much drama and passion with me? *laugh* I really got under his skin…

“Why do men hate me?!” I asked my college counselor that day in genuine pain and despair because that’s the only thing that made sense to me to consider that day. But she was annoyed by that question. “They don’t hate you.” …I think she may have then grossly added, “I think you’re just imagining things!” *laughing* Yeah…see I really just didn’t know what I said I didn’t know… This was months into counseling too. She knew I was a placid, analytical person. I was genuinely baffled not throwing myself an idiotic pity party… And no one was ever going to tell me what I wonder now as an older adult. “You’re just a stupid nuisance.” is the way most women I trusted responded to me about it when I confused in them or they never said anything to contradict that narrative. “If it’d been me I would have said ‘you don’t know me!’” one female peer responded with some compassion but mostly an air of knowing worldliness and superiority. If it’d have happened to her (which was unlikely of course in her narrative) she would have put him in his place! Not like silly little me!

I have to think like I have 30 years to write. 30 years to figure things out. 30 years to help people. 30 years to absorb as much as I can and worship God before…death. 30 years… Possibly less time than I’ve been alive…

Millennials are starting to get old. We’re running out of time, relatively speaking. And if I’m in middle-age this isn’t a crisis so much as a gentle reminder…

…I need to figure out what it was I was trying to get at with my pull to study Polish history. There was something about it… And I had no good way to quickly explain it in five seconds to a yelling, emotionally forward man alone in his office.