The ghosts of childhoods past...

How's that for a cryptic post title? Does it make the wait for a new post that much more palatable? I should hope so - even I miss my posts (the stress relief that comes with writing them, anyway), so I can only imagine what you all must be going through. I vow to be better from here on in. At least I'll give it the old college try.

It's been quite the few days. Friday I was home from work, not feeling well at all. Adjusting to all of these different medications all at once plus the stupid freezing weather really took their toll, and since I had no meetings scheduled for the day and I woke up feeling like crap on toast yet again, I took it as a sign from the universe - stay the hell in bed.

And who am I to deny a sign from the universe?

So I slept in a bit, being sure to send an email to the office informing them of my impending absence. My boss emailed back asking me to take a look at something a bit later which I of course agreed to do, so my sleep was somewhat abbreviated but I was able to rectify that later in the day, so no harm done.

I stumbled down the stairs, checked the email, etc, had some toast to try and settle the ole belly, then watched endless hours of HGTV in between couch naps. Pure heaven.

A while later my sister in law came by to keep me company - she was off for the day too - and that totally helped the time go by. We had some laughs, watched some bad design telly, had fun impersonating Hubs (tee hee), then she was on her way home to provide her puppy's bladder with some relief.

Hubs finally showed up with DeeDee around 9:30 or so - poor guy had a long week - and by then I was itching to just get out of the house so I hopped in the car, went to Tim's for a decaf (I'm a caffeine lightweight after 8pm) and went to get the mail.

At least I can say I left the house that day.

Saturday morning we were up early and decided to dine at our now fave breaky spot - Denny's. Remembering our last wait for a table, we got our collective asses in gear and headed down the road for some freakin french toast.

Yummy, lovely, happy day, we're sitting, we're eating, we're chatting, all is well. Lisa, a girl I went on a winter trip to Blue Mountain walks in - well hi! How are you? Long time no see...meet my husband, etc. I meet her fiance, enjoy your breakfast, yes we live out here now, and on they go. We turn our attention back to coffee and cranberry juice, laughing smugly at how small the world is, great to run into people, and then it happens.

In walks Carolyn Hill. (cue bad guy music here).

I truly believe that everyone has had a Carolyn Hill in their lifetime. You know, the one kid (male or female, doesn't matter) who makes your life a living hell sometime during the course of your schooling. They tease you, or taunt you, lead the other kids in teasing and taunting you, and while you vow with all the self esteem a 12 year old can muster to not let it get to you, inside you are destroyed. You make a pledge to yourself to rise above it, be the bigger person, but 20 plus years later when you're face to face with the evil bitch, it all comes flooding back.

I had two Carolyn Hill's in my life. I won't mention the other girl's name - it's a lot more distinctive than Carolyn Hill (how much more generic can you get, I mean really?) but my level of disdain for her equals that of Carolyn Hill without question. I ran into Other Girl a few years ago back in my hometown, working the cash at Canadian Tire. Now, not that there's anything wrong with that, but I will say that I had just graduated with my Master's Degree and was about to start my big, fancy corporate consulting job in the big city - and she was at home, working the cash at Canadian Tire. And she looked like shit. But bad shit, like she'd been really sick or something. So in that moment, I was able to let it go. Especially when she swiped my gold card, looked at the name, and recognized me. No witty retorts or nasty comments this time. No, Other Girl held her tongue. And that was victory enough for me.

But back to Carolyn Hill. My heart almost stopped and I thrust my hand into my bag in desperate search of my cell phone so I could call my sister and let her know who I was 'dining' with that morning. Her reaction matched mine which thrilled me. Satisfied, I hung up and went back to my french toast.

She never saw me, my nemesis. Or if she did, she just looked right through me as I only wished she had so many times all those years ago. Then she spoke to the waiter and I heard that unmistakable voice, and any doubts I might have had regarding her identity quickly vanished.

I must have stared straight at her for 15 minutes, and never once did she really see me, despite being in her almost direct line of sight. Typical. Although she did have three young boys and a husband to contend with (personally I think three young boys is punishment enough for her former crimes - but that's just me), so that may have quite rightly have pulled her focus away from little ole me.

Part of me so desperately wanted to walk up to her table, pretend to see her for the first time, and exclaim, 'Carolyn? Is it really you?' just to see how the miserable excuse for a human being wrapped up in a purple sweat suit would react. But the 12 year old in me just didn't have the guts, and the 33 year old in me decided she wasn't worth wasting any additional breath or energy on Her Fierceness.

So I walked past her table on the way to the washroom, hoping to catch her eye, to see even a glimmer of recognition, but nothing. I continued on, took care of business, and returned to Hubs and DeeDee, waiting for me at the exit.

Hubs told me he heard her come up to the cash to complain about their server - apparently he wasn't 'polite' enough for her liking. Wow. Hey pot, it's kettle - you're black! Too funny.

I shook my head, laughed at how some people just never change, then sent some positive vibes to her poor husband and children. 'Cause if she truly hasn't changed as seems to be the case, they're surely going to need them. Then I grabbed Hubs' hand and strolled outta there. My 33 year old self was feeling pretty okay about how my life turned out, and knew there was nothing more purely crappy people like her could do to hurt me. I think my 12 year old self even cracked a little smile as I wanted out into the spring morning.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?