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enthusiastickDone a lot of hanging around/driving around with Jon the past couple of days. Its been good for me.
A ramble about today: It started off poorly, with vague but terrifying nightmares about the undead. The horrible diseased brain-eaty rather than somewhat sexy alluring blood-sucky variety of undead, specifically. The dream ended with one of those horrible wake-up sequences where I woke up and went to the mirror in my bathroom and looked like one of the faceless demons from the Exalted illustrations. Mouth but no nose or face, and then I screamed and actually woke up. It was about 2 PM (long past time to get out of bed, given that I had promised my mother I'd adjust my schedule and start being up by noon.) So I got out of bed.
I ended up bumming around a good deal. My little sister was home studying for her exams. So I watched some TV and re-read some book. My mother's phoned-in promise to be home with the car by about 4:15 didn't materalize until about an hour late. She came home hassled and after a brief bout of bossing me and my sister around went to check her e-mail. I retired to the TV until such time as she was in a better mood to broach the subject of the car. Eventually she stalked into the room to ask if I was "going to do anything but watch TV all day." On that note I extracted the car keys from her with minimum fuss and attempted to get the Hell out of there before things got any worse.
Of course, they got worse. My Dad came home about as I was trying to leave, and I lingered in the doorway to say hello to him. Big mistake. The next thing I know the three of them have got me cornered. My mother is criticizing my choice in clothing while my father tells me I'm inconsiderate not to have adjusted to the family's schedule while my little sister provides heckling and general peanut-gallery ridicule. By the time I get in the car I was shaking with frustration and anger.
I love my family. I have been known to get all moony and nostalgic about how well I get along with my siblings and, for the most part, my parents, and about how great it is that they're still married. But some days I just feel like I have nothing in common with them at all, like I am a germ and they are white blood cells. They just nag and criticize, and my mother's only response to being in a bad mood while I'm home is to pick fights with me - and I don't have the energy or the patience right now, I'm trying to relax.
So it was good that I drove around with Jon, even if we had said just about everything we had to say yesterday. We ended up just listening to music in a lot of comfortable silence interspersed with singing along. Chatted vaguely about people we had known in high school, and how much that period of time defines our lives and how we are constantly reassessing those relationships. Realizing how stupid and immature we both were, even in the way we thought about those things a couple of years ago. He mentioned the trip to North Carolina in between freshman and sophomore years of college, and it seemed like an awfully long time ago.
As the song The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot came on during the drive I mentioned the concert where my getting back together with Sam initiated. Sort of elaborated on the event more to him than I had before. He assured me that I was right, the whole thing was and is thoroughly and incredibly messed-up. And I keep coming back to this one lyric in the song:
call me a safe bet
I'm betting I'm not
That's me and Sam in a nutshell, each constantly reminding the other how hopeless we individually are. I am blown away by how together she insists on thinking that I am, and I wish that she genuinely understood how insecure and frankly frightened I am about my entire life. And, given the thread of conversation about high school that persisted through the end of the night, its a marvel to me how little I've changed. I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way. I don't want to grow up, not really.
But I'm starting to get scared about not growing up. The prospect certainly terrifies my mother, and looking at my uncles (my Dad's older brothers) I begin to see why. I have it in my genes to never grow up but to turn into a sort of half-assedly immature screw-up. I don't want that to happen. But there's no real model for not growing up when you get older. So maybe I have to, but I'm not ready, and I don't want to. Does that make any sense?
A ramble about today: It started off poorly, with vague but terrifying nightmares about the undead. The horrible diseased brain-eaty rather than somewhat sexy alluring blood-sucky variety of undead, specifically. The dream ended with one of those horrible wake-up sequences where I woke up and went to the mirror in my bathroom and looked like one of the faceless demons from the Exalted illustrations. Mouth but no nose or face, and then I screamed and actually woke up. It was about 2 PM (long past time to get out of bed, given that I had promised my mother I'd adjust my schedule and start being up by noon.) So I got out of bed.
I ended up bumming around a good deal. My little sister was home studying for her exams. So I watched some TV and re-read some book. My mother's phoned-in promise to be home with the car by about 4:15 didn't materalize until about an hour late. She came home hassled and after a brief bout of bossing me and my sister around went to check her e-mail. I retired to the TV until such time as she was in a better mood to broach the subject of the car. Eventually she stalked into the room to ask if I was "going to do anything but watch TV all day." On that note I extracted the car keys from her with minimum fuss and attempted to get the Hell out of there before things got any worse.
Of course, they got worse. My Dad came home about as I was trying to leave, and I lingered in the doorway to say hello to him. Big mistake. The next thing I know the three of them have got me cornered. My mother is criticizing my choice in clothing while my father tells me I'm inconsiderate not to have adjusted to the family's schedule while my little sister provides heckling and general peanut-gallery ridicule. By the time I get in the car I was shaking with frustration and anger.
I love my family. I have been known to get all moony and nostalgic about how well I get along with my siblings and, for the most part, my parents, and about how great it is that they're still married. But some days I just feel like I have nothing in common with them at all, like I am a germ and they are white blood cells. They just nag and criticize, and my mother's only response to being in a bad mood while I'm home is to pick fights with me - and I don't have the energy or the patience right now, I'm trying to relax.
So it was good that I drove around with Jon, even if we had said just about everything we had to say yesterday. We ended up just listening to music in a lot of comfortable silence interspersed with singing along. Chatted vaguely about people we had known in high school, and how much that period of time defines our lives and how we are constantly reassessing those relationships. Realizing how stupid and immature we both were, even in the way we thought about those things a couple of years ago. He mentioned the trip to North Carolina in between freshman and sophomore years of college, and it seemed like an awfully long time ago.
As the song The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot came on during the drive I mentioned the concert where my getting back together with Sam initiated. Sort of elaborated on the event more to him than I had before. He assured me that I was right, the whole thing was and is thoroughly and incredibly messed-up. And I keep coming back to this one lyric in the song:
call me a safe bet
I'm betting I'm not
That's me and Sam in a nutshell, each constantly reminding the other how hopeless we individually are. I am blown away by how together she insists on thinking that I am, and I wish that she genuinely understood how insecure and frankly frightened I am about my entire life. And, given the thread of conversation about high school that persisted through the end of the night, its a marvel to me how little I've changed. I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way. I don't want to grow up, not really.
But I'm starting to get scared about not growing up. The prospect certainly terrifies my mother, and looking at my uncles (my Dad's older brothers) I begin to see why. I have it in my genes to never grow up but to turn into a sort of half-assedly immature screw-up. I don't want that to happen. But there's no real model for not growing up when you get older. So maybe I have to, but I'm not ready, and I don't want to. Does that make any sense?
