Signed, Sealed, Delivered

*deep breath* Well... it's mailed. I am officially going. Dread has not crept in. I AM FINE. No really. FINE. Laid hands on the envelope and prayed over it, asking God to take something painful, awkward and irritating and make it His. Something tells me I have to go. Because if I don't:
1) I'll always wonder
2) I'll never firmly resolve the past
3) I won't get to see their faces when they realize who I am and their drinks go clattering to the ground
4) I won't get to (mentally) give the finger to anyone who ever put me down (MENTALLY!)
5) I won't get to hear all the wonderful stories of those -- like myself -- who beat the odds

So yeah, paid my money, sent in my dumb little form. Even sent an email "update" (or was that "press release"?) letting everyone know what I've been up to since graduation... The largish venues I played with my band, the album I recorded, the writing awards I won, the graphic art I designed for three very visible local businesses, the praise we've garnered here at our tiny little political endeavor, the projects I have in the works, the man-tastic arm candy (MF) I'm bringing to introduce to everyone. You know, *chortle* barely mentionable blurbs like that (*she says with completely mock modesty*). I've arrived, DAMNIT! And I want to make sure it's common knowledge. I even inserted a little olive branch towards the end. Something like, "looking forward to hearing all your incredible stories and seeing you all soon!", or some such rot.

Never mind my bitterness. I am actually really curious to see what the sweet, talented and brilliant kids (read: nerds) have been up to. One or two people in particular. I really want them to have outdone me.

I want to hear about one of my co-producer/directors from junior year. I am sure she's doing something so revolutionary she might not actually have time to show up. I hope she's on location in London, shooting an episode of the show she wrote and sold for $10 million.

I really want to see what happened to the brilliant nerd-turned-skank I'd known since 7th grade. He was the smartest kid in school. Funny, twisted, not at all attractive, but ambitious, smart, and wickedly genius. He was so bored with the institution that he refused to do his work and used his prodigious IQ for rather ambiguous purposes. Odds are he's in a Turkish prison somewhere... or he's a software mega-mogul with ties to the CIA.

And there are other gems I knew whom I sincerely hope went on to have peaceful lives. I hope they married well and are jolly good citizens with a brood of little mini-citizens who look just like them.

So who am I going to (MENTALLY) flip off? The preps, the jocks, the president of the student council, the homecoming queen, the girl who hid behind her hypocritical denomination (and her Daddy's reputation) and smiled as she stuffed a knife into my back.

I never went out for anything they were involved in. I knew they would beat me. Not because they were better, but because they were more popular and they had more cronies. It wasn't worth it. I stuck to the things I knew they would never go out for; things I was good at and that they sucked at. I acted, directed, produced, drew, painted, wrote, and designed. Many of my projects went unnoticed and unheralded. And that's exactly the way I wanted it. Attention and praise would have been the first warning that my work was crap. I stayed way under the radar, preferring to work to earn my bones rather than riding Mommy and Daddy's tanned and manicured smiles to Glory.

I realize (intellectually) that they have probably evolved into human beings with feelings and compassion beyond the bounds of clique governance (disaster supreme). But still. There is a wound-for-a-pound-of-flesh part of me that veritably drools at the prospect that I may have turned out more successful, prettier, more cultured, compassionate, and plugged-in than every single one of them. Yes, you got it! You're absolutely 100% correct... I want to get EVEN.

I don't want to assault anyone or anything, I just want to see and feel the apologies -- whether they are spoken or not is irrelevant. I want to know -- really know -- that they realize they were WRONG. Wrong about me, my potential, my worth, my talent, my intelligence, everything. W-R-O-N-G. That's all.

But the human, feeling, and compassionate clique-less woman in me also has the sneaking suspicion that I must admit the same things about them. They're probably not nearly as snaky and homogenized as I remember. Those plastic teenage politicians who reeked of repressed and bland meaninglessness (and were worshipped for it, I might add) are probably, in reality, *shudder* nice. (I can't BELIEVE I just said that.)

Really... though. Let me put aside all the conjecture and humble myself for a second. Or as a dear blo-league would say, let me get naked for a second. I really want to be accepted by the popular kids because I never was. And I really want to show people what God can do when someone submits to His Love. When we walked the same halls together, I was a self-destructive and gluttonous hippie. Now I am a strong and healthy warrior for Christ. And I know I'm going to have to convince more than one person that I am indeed who my nametag proclaims. I've lost a person, after all. (I got a foretaste of this in a department store when I had to convince a clueless former classmate of my identity. Until I told him our Spanish teacher's name and finally my own, I could have been a mental patient for all he knew. He literally *gasped*.)

So we'll see. Thankfully, the reunion is around the same time when major events leading up to the wedding are getting cranked up, so I'll have a few distractions to keep me from sweating it. No biggie. It's like the staff meeting you don't want to go to. The client luncheon you wish you could skip. It's part of your job, you'll get through it.

And don't worry, if I have any more weird dreams, I'll keep you all posted.