2:35 p.m. | 2003-12-21
Fuck You--And Your Christmas Tree Too
Word of the Day for Sunday December 21, 2003
eremite ER-uh-myt, noun:
A hermit, especially a religious recluse.
I met a boy from Chicago
We bonded over the insanity
He held me hand, and kissed my nose
Told me to never change
I don't remember that boy anymore,
My heart's strings unattached,
For he did not matter to me
And my path
I was just thinking of something the other day. A friend of mine and I had a conversation, I honestly told him that I felt I had little if anything to offer in a relationship, any relationship for that matter. In theory, it's true, here's what I have to offer:
1) Compassion
2) Intelligence
3) Some humor
And I'm not really upset about that, but it made me think longer, what is it that people offer to other people at all? I mean think about it...some people can't offer #1, and I'm not going to brag, and I'd hate for it to come off that way, but seriously there aren't too many people who offer that the way I do. The same thing goes for #2, there are smart people out there, and I'm by no means the smartest, but I offer some intelligent qualities. And as far as #3 goes, I just tossed that in because two things in a list looks weak.
So here's my thought: we, as humans in relationships, don't have much to offer. I thought about what other's have that I don't have. A small ass, larger breasts, money to throw at anyone and anything...and that's about all I could come up with. So when I say 'if you disregard my compassion, I don't really have much to offer' I'm rather correct in saying that. But then--none of us do. There's another quality then, something else that must be measured. Something smaller, less tangeable perhaps, and I'm determined to find it.
Not now, but later, and that time will come to, but for now I'm content as I sit here and realize that truly, I can't give much. I think perhaps that's why money is such a big factor, it "fixes" those sorts of things like self worth.
Onto more recent thoughts: my Aunt really hasn't gotten much better. I never told the story, but in a short version the entire reason I'm here for the holidays is because my Aunt legitimately attacked my mother last year at Christmas, knife in her hand once, tried to strangle her another time. In front of two children and myself. It's depressing, but the shit I said that day changed Susan (my aunt). I don't even have the respect for her to call her Aunt Sue anymore, I lost that a long time ago, though--when I saw how she warped her children.
I had to hold that poor boy to my chest and run my hands through his hair and listen as he honestly told me that he was afraid of his mother. He's even more deathly afraid of his father, but that I can understand. That man is constantly irritated and 300 pounds. I'm scared shitless too. But his mother is so god damned up and down, or as my grandma says "was" so nuts. I honestly don't see a change, though. She's gone to counciling, she's on "meds" and she's "getting better." I'm not going to let go that easily, though. That little boy was sobbing. That little thing with the brownest of eyes is punished for being sweet and doing things for other people. Granted I shouldn't raise him on my morals, I can sure as hell try to keep him from getting fucked up more...I wrote a poem about him a long time ago:
Years ago I spoke
Of a boy,
Tender in age,
Immersed in issues
Surrounded by adult problems
And character deficiencies
He stared into his comic
Blindly
The world in his eyes
Is still so new,
And confusing as it is
But those same eyes see
The adult misdeeds
And childish reactions
The two pools of brown
Watch
As the world goes up in arms around him
What hurts is not his heart,
It's mine
Those actions,
The things he sees,
Will never leave
Forever ingrained in his ignorance
Eyes Closed Forever
And now that I think about it, that was before this whole thing happened, with her acting stupid and the whole thing messing up. It got me to thinking the other day, I want children. I really really do. But what happens if I screw them up? Do I see them as screwed up? Would I feel guilty for the rest of my life? Would I be able to stand that? I've had so many people in my life assure me that I would be fabulous with children, but I'm afraid. I'm related to this insanity, and while I recognize it, I also see parts of it in my mother and very rarely in things that I do. I am NOT about to bring a kid into the world that would have to suffer from that. It's bullshit. I would never go there or even do that.
I'm really frustrated because even though I came in on Friday, I didn't see anyone but my Aunt and my Grandmother--until later today. I'm going to drive up to South Bend to pick up my momther, where I will see my cousins and my Aunt and Uncle. Nothing was strained when I saw my aunts, though the first words out of her mouth were an insult: "what happened to the blonde hair?" I look at her with a little question in my expression, "what do you mean?" She looks back at my hair, "I don't like it dyed this color, it's ugly." Luckily I'm strong enough to keep my composure and not throw a fist, though as my jaw dropped in my mind I couldn't help but want to smack her. Who says that. Really, how couth is that? I was really insulted and I've been staring at my hair in the mirror ever since. Fuck.
She doesn't matter to me, none of them do. My grandmother who will never listen to things, I keep telling her historical facts that I don't just make up: they're agreed upon by every historical figure out there. She denies them to the bitter end, and shit is she racist. I never knew it before, but hell. I don't know what to do, when you have all this time, sitting around here you have two things to do: talk and manual labor. I'm sick of working, we did the wood party yesterday, so I don't want to right now and I almost got into a huge argument with her. It's scary how adult I was, and how comfortable being an adult I was. I'm fucking 18, I'm legally an adult sure, but I haven't been raised in a society where I'm expected to be one.
And in a small homage on that thought: yes Gabe, my bones do hurt like I'm old, like my mind has been working far too long, and I'm not sure where I'll push off to next.
And again, work beckons me, I must go "find the four foot christmas tree!" It's gonna be like a fucking commando mission. I have to go to the top of the barn ::: gulp ::: I don't think you understand, not the top of the barn! With those old steps, where every few steps one is missing, and there's no handrails, or walls...and there's mountains of boxes up there that you'd never believe! I have to find a tree in that. Not the 6 foot tree. Not the 4 foot with fiber optics, not anything else, but the 4 foot tall tree from 1943. Yeah, and then I have to decorate it and the house all because, "you know, Lauren, I don't really want the house decorated this year." Right, that's why I'm being yelled at every four seconds to go do it. I love you too.
But on a happier note, I love all of you out there, and I'm not that unhappy about being here. Life goes on, and as it does--I smile. As should you.
Signing Off--Lauren
