Forgetting

I forgot to eat breakfast today.  It's not that I don't like breakfast or eating or whatever.  I just simply forgot.  I forgot to feed the dog on my way out of the house as well. I wonder if that banana forgot about me.  Or if my dog's forgetting what I sound like.

My grandma is starting to forget what grand kid I am.  We visited her today.  It was sweet to see her smile but depressing to see her so flustered with herself that she couldn't remember if my name is Mathew, Sophie, or Karren and if I am married with two kids or at BYU.  She doesn't remember which kid she brought to the Mariners game and which kid had to stay home.  Which kid called her on her birthday and which kid is grieving. 

It's like we all are in the same category.  Same order.  Same genre.  Same expectation.  But I don't want to be just a grand child to her.
                                   Or some classmate or student to you.  I don't want to be just some friend.
                     Some sister. 
                                           Some daughter.
                                                                        Some wife. 
                                                                                            Some mother to a child.

I want to be somebody.  I want to leave a mark in your life, in her life, in his life, and even the kid that sits in front of me in STATS class's life. 

I want to be remembered. Like my father is.   Like Michael Jordan is.  Like the sand man is when you wake up and scratch your eyes.  Like sin is when a tear drops from their mama's eyes.  Like our childhood hero's are remembered. 

I still remember the sound of his church shoes hitting the hardwood floors after a days worth of working.  I still remember the tears that filled my brothers' eyes when we waited outside of the hospital room.  I still remember the smell of his colon, but only because Mom couldn't stand having it around and gave it to my brother.  So now he smells like him.  I still remember tossing and turning every night because all I could hear was Dad, pounding the keyboard with his two index fingers. 

Still working.  Man, kemo couldn't slow him down.  So why would death slow him down? 

Forgetting will slow me down. 

Scars

Don't you hate when you need to be somewhere at a precise time and location and you're running behind on time?  And the person in front of you is driving soooo slow.  They even blinker when they change lanes.   To make it worse, you get lost.  After your incidence of road rage, you finally get to your destination.  But you're too late.

I don't know what is more frightening than getting lost.   Maybe you are lost and far from achieving a dream.  Maybe your best friend is lost and you are no longer apart of them.  And maybe you are lost because of distractions, and these distractions take the best version of you, and just get erased.

I have this scar on my left foot.  It's about two and a half inches long. Although it's not my biggest scar, it's the cooler story to tell people.  I got it from participating in a rodeo. Long story short... I attempted to pull the ribbon off of a calf and well... the calf wrecked my foot!

 I think there are scars that we all share.  And that is failure.  It cuts deep.  It eats at you and whispers to you that someday its pain will mark you.  Well, it marked me.  Those scars get me up in the morning, those scars keep me fighting.  Fighting for another chance to mend my weaknesses, so that I don't ever get lost from the dreams I have set out to accomplish while I'm here.  

Oh yeah, that person you were stuck behind in traffic was also late to their dream job.  We are all late to our dream jobs.  

You Better Rock Out

                                              Rock out like you're on your way to 80's with a solid crew. 

                              Like your pencil just broke, and there's no sharpener in the class room.  

                          Rock out like the mail man delivered the real estate check.            
           Like your pimple disappeared or you sneak out of the house....successfully.

                                        Rock out like you have a purpose.

                                                                  Rock out because you hear em in the stands.  Rock out like he wore a skinny tie and looks fiiiiinnneeeee.      
                                                       Like time flies on wings of lightning.

Rock out like You've Got Mail is on television and you can rewind it over and over again, still giving you goose bumps when that cheesy version of Somewhere Over The Rainbow comes on.

Rock out like a camera man clicks his camera because he knows he found a superstar.

Rock out like N*SYNC and 98° were the real deal. 

         Rock out like its a Chinese Fire Drill on State Street.                                                                     Rock out when your future husband thinks bout you.                                  

Rock out like you're hot cuz you've been dancing with the devil. 

                     Like you're glidin on fresh powder in Canada's best ski resort.                  

Like Rachel Pitts rocks out every time we score.  

Rock out like you aren't the same as you were yesterday.                                                         Like you totally called his next girlfriend, and she's nothing like you.  In fact, rock out because you no longer are with him and you're perfectly lonely.  

Rock out like Deja Vu just happened.

                  Like the newest Biggie Smallz  remix is stuck in your head.  

Rock out like a guy pump fists when the doctor announces they're having a baby boy.   Rock out when your boyfriend is hotter than your friends boyfriends.  

And you better rock out when the day comes when you make him proud.  

Like the world is blindsided.  Like you're that man on the moon. 

Rock out when you pay it forward.  Rock out when you're the only one, and it's enough.