By the Pool Side

I am in possession of many pet peeves. I hate when someone pulls out in front of me and then proceeds to drive five miles under the speed limit. I hate that I seem to be the only one in my house that realizes there are designated places in the dishwasher for the bowls, plates and cups to go. Deviating from that design totally messes up the efficiency of which dishes can be cleansed. I hate there is always that one person who will ask "are we having fun yet?" while working on a project, that is obviously not fun. The question is not witty, funny or any form of encouraging. It's not even funny sarcasm, I don't even know how to respond to the question. I just know every time it is asked I have more and more trouble restraining myself from punching them in the face.

It also drives me crazy when a professor will do a review for a test and state how many points are possible and then someone will ask "how many points are possible?". I can't stand it when someone can't take a compliment. Really, just say thank you. It's not that hard. Other pet peeves include people coming in on the last five minutes of a TV show and then asking "what happened?", employees asking me "are you sure?", him hiding not wanting to spend time with me behind the mask of being too busy, red lights, David Caruso, lettuce, being forgotten and people who complain about every situation...ironically.

But what gets me the most, what I hate above all is at this moment a friend of my eight year old niece is struggling with a brain tumor that doctors can't get. How do you explain to an eight year old that her headaches and pain might never go away?
I hate that someone I love is drowning in a pool of crushing debt, depression and her own bad decisions. And, we her family, just stand by the pool side waiting and wondering who's going to jump in and save her.
I hate that another of my friends has tied her self worth to a man that has little worth of his own. She would rather be miserable and hurt with him than happy alone. I hate that I know these things, but at the end of the day - it's the red lights that really get to me. I hate I'm that kind of person.

I see you...in the bar, laughing a little too loud at his mediocre jokes. You hope he'll make you feel desirable and beautiful, even for just one night. I see you look around in hopes the waiter is on his way with that third drink because you know that's the only way this night will be tolerable. You're grasping for fleeting moments that were never meant to last a lifetime. You're grasping at all the wrong things that only add to the emptiness you have.

I see you...wondering up and down Cantrell, Markham, Broadway and Rodney Parham. Your scarred with dirt in your hair, on your face and on your clothes. Everyday for the past eight years you have been walking up and down these streets. Always on your way with no where to go. People who walk by are careful not to make eye contact with you. You are someones son, someones grand child. But there was a day you became too hard to care for, too hard to love. There was a day that someone gave up on you, and let you go. And you were forgotten.

Yes. I do see you. And I'm sorry that I have used my problems as an excuse to ignore yours. I'm sorry that for some reason I don't use the courage that has already been given to me. I'm sorry that all I do is wait, all I do is see.