What one year of your life would you like to re-live, if you were given the chance? Do-overs. Hmmm. It wouldn’t be anything from my childhood because it would have to be when I had the control to make a bigger difference in my own life.
It would have to be 1992. The year after I graduated high school. I was in community college. The GirlBeater decided that he was too dumb to go to college (oh, he was right, people) so he decided to go into the Army. So he made me go with him to the recruiter and you know those guys are like bad MLM people, so I got hoovered in too. The funny thing is, he wanted to be a plane mechanic and I didn’t really care what I did, I just wanted some money for college. But after we did our testing and physicals, he didn’t qualify for the job he wanted so he had to accept a job as Infantryman, and I (over) qualified for Military Police Officer. He spent a few months at boot camp and AIT and I spent several weekends in reserves then a few months at FTC and boot camp but didn’t quite make it to AIT. My Drill Sergeant figured out that I was not so much with hearing stuff (I cheated when I did the physical earlier; I watched the girl next to me and when she pushed the button, I did too), so she (that’s right, she, and she was Bad ASS) made me go to the Army Hospital for more testing. The doctors said either I could accept another job of their choosing or go home, but I could not be Military Police which I had already been training for. So I went home. What would I have done differently? Left The GirlBeater’s stupid ass.
*sits straight up and starts typing again with purpose*
Actually, on second thought, I want a do-over on my do-over. I would not have re-lived that year. I grew up a lot that year. Being in the Army and going through that training raised my self-confidence and gave me enough courage to leave him right after I got home from the Army. I realized that I didn’t have to put up with that crap, and if he really pushed me, I would probably snap, and kill his stupid ass. So I left.
I would re-live 1993. I did leave The GirlBeater the first week in January. One morning I woke up and decided I was done. I had my shit packed by 11am, and was on the I-80W by noon. So far so good. But. There’s always a but. And sometimes a butt.
Here’s what I did.
My best friend called me while I was in Iowa and said I shouldn’t let TGB run me out of the state. I told him that I was actually scared for my life. TGB had threatened my life before and packed heat (oh, he did stalk me later and make threats on my life, but the police couldn’t do anything because they didn’t have stalker laws back then). Best Friend pleaded that I should move back to Michigan, and that his mom had already said that I could stay with them until I got an apartment of my own. So after only a week in Iowa, I moved back to Michigan and moved in with my best friend’s family. His next brilliant idea was that we should date, and because we were best friends, it would be phenomenal. I told him it sounded like a stellar plan if the objective was to lose your best friend. He convinced me otherwise and we dated all of 1993. He proposed on my birthday (12-19, write it down, people) and two weeks later, guess where I was? Who had bets on I-80W by noon? Because that’s the big payoff, folks. Turns out my best friend was the best friend I had ever had; but as a couple, we totally sucked ass. I couldn’t bear to break up with him when I figured that out just a couple months in, because I didn’t want to hurt him. No, I had to string that shit out a year and then accept his proposal and then leave him. Yeah, I’m a genius.
Here’s what I should have done.
Answered the phone in Iowa and said, “No, I’m gonna stay here in Iowa where my psychotic stalker TGB doesn’t know where I am, and get my shit straightened out. But I’ll visit you, Best Friend, and by the way? I’m so glad we never dated, because we can stay best friends for a long, long, time. Call again soon, buh-bye now.”
Oh, and also by the way? 1994. Best Year of my Life. I met The Hunk Man in March, started dating him in May, he proposed in November, and we got married in June 1995. I love you, H. You are, and always will be, my very bestestest friend forever. You are a blessing. I am so thankful for having you in my life. Thank you for putting up with my stupid crap. The ADD, the depression, all the stupid little quirks that come with ADD/depression, the bewilderment at mothering skills, the suckiness at housework, and the my insistence upon my own general suck-ass-i-ness. But what I do best? Love you, and love these crazy-ass boys we made. Of that, I am sure. I love you.