What does it smell like?

I decided to do a nice thing for my older sister and clean the house today.
That included mopping:
Mostly water, and some "Fabuloso!" my mother always uses was called for.

As soon as I opened up that tiny bottle of cleaner, I was bombarded with the smell.

Amused with my initial response (I don't think it was a positive one), I imagined myself answering the question "What does it smell like?" to a first-time buyer (she was blonde in my mind, with an oompa loompa tan and overly big sunglasses, but a genuinely friendly smile. I was a worker).

My first though was "Cheap house": It smells like a place we're all programed to want to get out of: a city born 30 minutes on the wrong end of the fence.
Like humble families and lots of children.
It smells of ice cream, and children laughing. Of sun bathed afternoons and bare feet. Yellow shorts and spaghetti tops and bubbles.
It smells like potholes and poor neighborhoods.
It smells like mother's hard work, and like the cement floors she's make sparkle as a child.
It smells like father's work and tired naps after hours of labor.
It smells like washed out things.
It smelt of home, ironically. Despite the fact I'm somewhat detached from it--from all the poor things.
Yet I am still poor. I probably always will be--
No, I doubt it. But my house will always smell of poor things.
And that makes it all the richer.

Pent up troubles

I've been unintentionally stressed as of late.

I didn't even realize why, until a friend of mine decided to sit me down and talk. Damn if I ever needed it.
My life has, according to my friend, revolved around fear: fear of not being accepted. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of not deserving good things.

At first, I thought he was silly: why would I feel such things?

Sure, I have my secrets, but why would I fear being austracized?

I have my differences, but how would that make me feel inadiquate?

I didn't hate myself. I still don't. Why would I feel undeserving?

The last one hit home first: I do fear it--I fear love. It's a scary thing, knowing a living breathing person with their own wants and desires could take an interest to you. Or that you'd have to live up to their standards.

I am scared of that.

So I thought about the rest: yeah. I do fear not being accepted in my family, for reasons I can't get into here on this blog. Not yet.

And I do fear I've failed somehow, for reasons I can't get into here either. Not yet.

There's a file on my computer holding our entire conversation. Read at your own peril, would be my advice
.
I hope everything turns out okay in the end.

With Love,
Nikola Strange.


(Please pardon the typos. I want to publish this before I think too much--now you can see ny piss-poor spelling!! :DD