Sometimes mundane things cause my brain to end up in weird places. Some days, I spend more time trying to find my train of thought than I spend looking for my cell phone - and I can never find my cell phone.
The other night, it was a particular episode of The X-Files (go on, roll your eyes). “Roadrunners,” to be exact. Where Scully ends up stranded in the middle of the Utah desert by these seriously creepy-ass cult members because the host for their Messiah - a slug who lives in the host’s spinal cord - is dying. They realize she’s a doctor, put water in her gas tank, ask her to save the dude, and when she can’t, they take him to the barn, stone him to death, and put the slug in Scully’s back. Of course, Doggett (this is while Mulder’s floating around on a spaceship in the Arizona desert or somesuch) swoops in and saves the day, bursting in with the cavalry and cutting the slug out of her in the nick of time. He then shoots the slug, stunning the cultists (OMG! HE SHOT OUR SLUG! OUR WILL TO LIVE IS GONE! (cue Hubby: Stop laughing. They believed it was a god!)), and whisks Scully away to a hospital.
You know, now that I think about it, Scully seems to spend an awful lot of time in the hospital. How is she even possibly insurable if she ever leaves the FBI which, well, the second movie’s out and turns out she does, so HAI! Insurance? Honestly.
Anyhoo. Ahem. Where was I?
...
Oh yes. That illusive train of thought.
So I’m watching “Roadrunners” and getting vague flashes of watching it or maybe just discussing the gross absurdity of the whole Christ slug in a spine thing with my then best friend.
My then best friend. My, how times change. It’s been about six years since we talked civilly - although she was kind enough two years into our iciness to send me her to-die-for chicken curry recipe after I went to her with my tail between her legs and told her I was craving the stuff so badly I was considering regression hypnosis.
In the past few months, however, we’ve slowly begun talking again. Trying to maybe start repouring the foundations for the supports for the bridge we thoroughly burned down all those years ago. (You want drama? We had your DRAMA!)
And I got to thinking then about forgiveness, both requesting and giving. What a healing factor it’s played for me recently, just having that monkey off of my back. Funny thing about grudges - the longer you hold on to them, the heavier they get.
And I started to remember an incredible, breathtakingly honest conversation I had with a dear friend a few days ago. She shared with me a remarkable tale of apology and forgiveness that caused me to ache in some deep, buried part of myself. SHe also told of an amazing teacher of hers who had offered tremendous words of encouragement at a crucial time in her life. It was a drama teacher.
Oh yes. Hello, Pain, my old friend.
So, suddenly, here I am. With this jumble of apology and forgiveness and drama and teachers…and I’m sure the slug figures in somewhere. If not, the horde of nutty cultists certainly do.
And it all leads me to The Question of the Hour: How do you ask forgiveness for something that happened a lifetime ago? How do you apologize for spending - wasting - so many years fervently placing the blame for everything wrong in your life on someone else’s shoulders? How do you apologize for still holding on to a grudge with both fists when you can no longer decipher what actually happened and what you may have thought happened? How do you ask that forgiveness?
And how do you forgive the things that rattled you to the absolute core? That cost you most of your friends and nearly your life?
How do you cut the damn slug out of your own back?
* * * * *
{Note: This is more notebook-written rambling. I didn't date it - it was written several weeks ago, though, with posting here in mind. Time has passed, but the questions posed are still valid.}
