strange day. strange life. strange everything.
this screen is flashing in front of me like a disco ball.
it makes it hard to type and read, so instead i type and don't read anything.
here at grandpa's house. old person dust coats everything.
i feel like i'm holding him hostage, hoping so badly that he'll help me out that i've been on my best behavior, and just as charming as i can be.
i love my grandpa, so why does this feel phony?
i see my aunt and mother roll their eyes at his thought processes. i just keep thinking about getting older. how depressing it must be.
to experience your body gradually conk out.
to be aware that you can't remember something particular.
to mention the year in every story you tell because that's how you divide things up.
to feel your own hip break. to understand that your aching back just means you're getting old enough where your body wants to quit.
getting old sucks.
i want to be a wise old woman, but i look at my grandpa and know age isn't credentials. and like everything else, it's not about deserve.
it's not like survival of the fittest. growing old is simply circumstance and timing.
otherwise, you won't make it.
the thanks my grandpa gets for making it are off the cuff remarks from his grown children grown tired of him.
i feel a little bad and listen a little too intently to things that turn out not to matter.
i love my grandpa. but if he weren't related, i doubt i'd like him very much.
same man who beat the teeth out of my grandmother's mouth
drove a son to suicide
and helped turn my mom (though i still believe in free will) into the religious basketcase she is, afraid of everything and improperly praying.
this same man is trying to make ammends. wants to help me. wants to put me through school. doesn't he?
i'm afraid to ask him. we've had this conversation. i'd rather live in a box made of cardboard pride than ask for what i most want.
they severed his general motors pension.
i'm afraid to ask him.
tomorrow morning we leave.
tomorrow is father's day.
we take him out to breakfast.
then i go home
and probably without an answer to my money problems.
do i go to work on monday?
could i even make myself if i can't find an end in sight?
who the fuck does my boss think she is?
who the fuck am i?
why do we collide?
what about my dog? will you walk him or will i come home to shit on the floor and a fuckload of guilt for once again abandoning him?
i'm in a rut tonite.
it'll pass. when i stress it all out.
i can't write.
can't smoke except outside.
i just want to go home, smoke a bone, love on my dog and cat
and oversimplify everything.
in limbo sucks.
so does asking for help.
sometimes, so does getting it.
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