One Up

I am a person of stories. I have a story for just about everything under the sun and moon. I don't always tell my stories because I hate to be rude. I would hate that everyone think I'm a "one upper." If I am in a conversation that isn't about the stories, but about the person, I usually won't share because it will take away from their story. Sometimes I'll give a short bit if I think it will make them feel better, or let them know I can empathize with them.

But generally I have stories. In high school a girl followed me off the buss because she didn't like me talking to her boyfriend. I knew this was coming. I actually had dreams about saying something to her and then everyone at school think I was nuts, then I would be the crazy girl. Well one day she follows me off the buss and tells me that she is gonna kick my ass. According to her I should not have been talking to her man (who I knew before she did). As we are leaving the buss I turned and said the stupidest thing ever! I said, "If your gonna hit me, just remember you don't like it when your step dad hits you." Whoa...... remember, don't read another persons mind that already wants to kick your ass. I exposed a secret and it only made it worse on me. Worse in the way a history book hurts up side the head.  Don't worry. I was really sore, but I have a brother, she looked worse.

Then there is the "I was robbed once stories." You know your sharing stories with co workers or ladies at a get together. Well..... I have been robbed. When I was in Jr. High I was spending the night at a girlfriends house. We hear some talking outside at about 3AM. We watched these guys surround her house and go looking around her back yard. We woke up her dad and he pulled a shot gun out, pulled open the window and stuck the gun (from the second story) right in this guys face. He said, "hey, what you doing poking around my house?" In a very thick German accent. The guy said looking for my dog. LOL He said "get your friends the fuck out of my yard and go away." They did, but they also had a big gun with them. It was a bit scary.  Then when I was about 28 I was in a bank robbery. He walked right past me, I had my back to him and I saw everything that was gonna happen in a flash. He pulled out a gun from the overly hot coat he was wearing in the middle of the summer and told the girl at the counter to fill up a grocery bag then turned to leave. As soon as I realized what the vision was I looked up and he walked right past me and out the door. They locked us inside until the FBI got there. I didn't get scared until later that night I realized I could have been shot. He was arrested without further incident 4 blocks away.

Throughout my blog I'm sure you'll discover a reoccurring theme. My stories, my abilities, and my kids. I like that I have so many stories. I think I have used up my 9 lives though. The illness's, accidents, mishaps, broken parts, medications, car crunches.... most people think I have medical training because I know a lot about so many meds and so much about obscure illnesses. Maybe I should have been a Dr. Better yet, maybe I was one in a past life?

I do remember two of my past lives vividly. One I was a very large black man, I believe it was in New York, in the 1920's. I could no other job so I made money street fighting, boxing in the day. I was good at it too. Biggest problem for me in that lifetime was that I was gay. My lover was a small white guy, he was a journalist. I remember the love between us. He looked a lot like my husband now, maybe it is him reincarnated.

The other past live I only remember the end of. I was a pretty girl with brown braids. I think maybe 20 years old. My father had a farm, or maybe it was a ranch. I was wearing a blue dress with ruffles on the sleeves. A very large man followed me into the barn one day, he worked the land for my father. He smelled bad, always made me feel creepy, dirty. He jumped on me, wrestled me into the ground and started grabbing at the neck of my dress.  I remember the dusty smell of hay, the smell of animals and his rank breath. I just kept staring at those eyes. I know those eyes. I knew those eyes. I died that day from him squeezing my neck until it broke. I remembered those eyes again in a flood of memory one day during my first marriage. He picked me up by my neck and pushed me into a wall, told me that I left him he would kill anyone that tried to help me. Those eyes. He'd killed me once....... I left that day.