The past that haunts our current disappointments

I went to a private all-girl high school in a southern town. I was not southern born myself, I was a transplant from Pennsylvania. My parents were not into college athletics or the social experiences that surrounded them. We never got together with friends to barbecue and watch daddy get soused with his buddies slowly over the hours at the beach while discussing UNC basketball, or at a parking lot tailgating, or at somebody’s historic family home, etc.

So I was an outsider at school. I knew that I would be before I went. I still wanted to go there and MADE my parents let me go. I still do not regret my attendance at said school because the actual school part was really great for the most part, but yet, I still get my hackles up when I see my classmates doing well. I sort of wanted them to be failures, just because I thought they were ditzy, stupid, well-cared for ugly girls with no soul, lots of money, and I wanted them to all have futures that would somehow prove that I was right and they were wrong.

I wanted them to have drug problems that resulted in them being destined for crappy apartments with loser guys.

In my mind, that is sort of what happened. Instead, evidence continues to surface that they are all fairly happy and well to-do. I know this because they all keep hiring my favorite Raleigh decorator. Is it weird that I have a favorite Raleigh decorator? Yeah, probably. Either way, I know it is happening and it makes me jealous and rageful. Then I get a cup of coffee and do something else, but then it comes back again later and I’m all hateful envious ALL OVER AGAIN.

See, I can’t hire my favorite Raleigh decorator. 1. She is in Raleigh and I am on the other side of the country 2. I can’t afford it. 3. I can’t have a fully decorated house. It would drive me crazy and I have a kid that is currently a hurricane and dogs that are a mess.

Doesn’t matter.

This all sends me into a self-doubt spiral because it has taken me FOREVER to just get to the point that I’m at. My husband, whom I love, is finally an attorney, I have a gorgeous hilarious toddler, and I have a job that demands begrudging respect from my clients that I get to boss around. And yet we have no money, no house, and our dogs are really old (whenever I see evidence of my former classmates, they always have a fucking puppy — not a decrepit, pees on the carpet, has no teeth left set of dogs.)

I know that none of this means shit. I know, in my heart, I’m happy. But sometimes, just sometimes, I’d like to rip their faces off for having editorial shoots in their decorated house (latest is not my favorite pictorial set, by the way — way too busy and full of stuff) showing the world that they had an elegant, typical Raleigh wedding to a dumb looking typical Raleigh guy (photo on a dresser), with their in-bred looking cockapoo puppy, and their expensive antiques.

Notice how all of that is visual? She probably has a HUGE drug problem and he’s already cheating on her. And the dog? I’m sure the dog is lovely.

I think I just want new furniture 🙂

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