This stretch of road never changes, only I do. Every twist and turn and is the same and will be for hundreds of years. Only I will go away.
All the times I made this drive, I never could have guessed what the future held for me. Now I’m here and all I can think about is the past. The future is now and and it’s better than it was back then. Cold, monotonous journeys back and forth through towns that I would run away from, seeing a young boy that I will never see again, and a lifestyle that was not for me.
We had no idea what would happen over the past ten years.
We had no idea that Josh would get into a car accident 12 months ago and die and come back. The months of being in a coma, rehabilitation. I was mentally preparing myself on the drive to his house yesterday, preparing for the changes I would see. The new Josh. Telling myself not to cry. When I saw him, there was no reason to mourn. Though life is more challenging for him now he only has optimism. He’s so far ahead than (more…)
Visiting home is always…always…
I’m not sure what the word is.
Every time I visit home I feel different. Like the arm of a clock on a different time. When I was 22, I was 3AM, when I was 25, I was 4PM and now the clock rests on noon.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve mellowed out. Initially their dutiful daughter who always did what she was told suddenly did not like it. She snapped back. She was trying to figure out who she was and the last thing she needed was someone infringing on her time alone in her head.
Now, now she knows who she is. Now she doesn’t have a guttural reaction when one of them does nothing more than simply be the overly-concerned mother or grandmother that they are.
But coming home brings a new emotion. It’s no longer youthful angst, but rather seeing something I don’t want to see.
Something I’ll pretend is not happening.
As I hung in the doorway of my grandmother’s bedroom watching her get ready to go out, I noticed how small she looked. The weight (more…)
Watching Drive and writing that post today really got to me. The LA in Drive is the LA in so many movies and was the LA in my head when I lived there, though it’s not the LA that actually exists. I’ve written about this way too many times before, so I will not rehash it too much. Or maybe I will.
There are multiple LAs that exist in film- the glamorous 1920’s LA, the dangerous noir 40’s/50’s LA, the sunny carefree 1960’s LA, the porn/drug-riddled 70’s LA and the beautifully nihilistic 80’s LA. After that, the LA that exists now is the one we all know, but we want the other LAs, you know? The Day-Of-The-Locust-Who-Framed-Roger-Rabbit-Chinatown-LA-Confidential-Boogie Nights-Less-Than-Zero all rolled into one LA.
I just can’t stop thinking about her tonight. I can’t stop thinking about all the illusions and the dreams that weren’t real. The holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. The anticipation that anything– good or bad- would reveal itself to me. (more…)
My favorite time of year is here! The time of year where I no longer have to worry if my ass cheeks are hanging out of the bottom of my shorts. The time of year my frame is no longer a terrain of small bodies of sweat and dried kneetop and elbowtops. A time where I can resort back to dressing like Truman Capote. A time of cardigans and scarves and stockings and pants and soon enough I’ll be bitching about how cold it is even thought it’s only 65.
In two weeks I will be heading up to the Vermont Film Festival with my honey sweetie child (the longer you date and become more comfortable with someone, the more obnoxious nouns you add to their name) for a screening of his first film, Mars. At that time, my mother will take a carload of people including my auditorily-challenged grandmother, the cognitively-challenged Lionel, and the hyper-activelly challenged Jack Russell Terrier named Lucy and meeting us in Burlington.
This will be the first time my mother meets my boyfriend, something (more…)
I was telling a friend the other day that my blog was stressing me out. He asked why. I told him that I didn’t have a freakin’ clue. And that’s totally not true. It’s just that I didn’t want to think about why it was stressing me out.
“Well”, he typed over Gchat, “Isn’t your writing supposed to be therapeutic?” I thought about it for a second and realized my writing has become anything but. At one point a long time ago it was a form of therapy. I was young and I was lost and I discovered that putting those two truths down into words helped. A lot. Looking back on those posts I probably sounded like a nutjob, but weren’t we all at 22?
When more than my Mom under a fake pseudonym started reading my blog, I got nervous. I was afraid that people would think it was some lame-ass teenage-esque diary of a young woman who needed a can of “SHUT THE HELL UP!” . Something I wish they actually sold in grocery stores so I could strategically leave outside college student’s dorm rooms in the (more…)