salience
May 1, 2003
And the tempest has cleared for the most part. One more week of school left. And then it is mandatory fun time with the band. :)
I keep thinking about this time last semester, how I was counting down the minutes until I could be somewhere far, far away, in a place where I felt safe. There were so many emotions and conditions I was having to deal with, most self-inflicted, and I was ready to leave. Ready to turn a corner and never look back. Now I am five months down the road from that point in time, and I'm happy. With where I am in my life, with what I am looking forward to in the future, even if it is only the next five minutes. My days aren't broken down by half hours anymore. There is no more race for me to survive. I am not playing that game anymore.
La mama is still pretty upset. Things at her office are getting worse and worse. She has had to switch neurologists again, because our insurance has changed again, which means switching her medications. Dad is travelling more and more, chasing the sun, trying to account for lost time due to the war. Alone, she turns to me for comfort, someone to whom she can unleash the flood gates. It seems like each time I call home, our conversations keep getting longer. Well, it's not like we're talking: it's more like she needs to vent, and so I say hi and off she goes...until she runs out of words. The sad thing is, deep down we both know that she can never find enough words to describe what she is going through. Each crisis stems from an earlier dilemma, which will ultimately cause another in not too short of a time. It's all very exhausting--I don't like looking at life through her eyes. And yes she has been through a lot, but so have we all--because she is our mother. She has dragged us along with her, it's not something we can ever get out of. But honestly, I don't know if I would ever want to. It's all I've ever known.
I am not depressed, by any means. I have just had an excess of time to think about things. We still fight about my internship--in the end she says she is happy for me, for my opportunities, but we both know she is jealous. That is something that is understood. She has always had this need for competition, this insecurity that one day we will all decide we don't love her anymore and leave. So the years keep passing, and we all buy more and more expensive presents for her as we gain the means...hoping one day one package will change her mind. And back to the glass wall we go, seeing someone in so much pain and not being able to fully reach her. Some days I am so upset, so enraged that I care so much that it brings me to tears every time I think about it: how much we need her, how much she has borne for us. Every once and awhile I lose it, and flip out completely, openly. Then I have the same 30 minute rant I've had a million times before--how I need a mother, not a child. How unfair it is that I am the one who always has to listen, how my mom is too selfish to stop talking for two seconds to listen to me, to what's happening in my life.
But she reacts just like always, looking at every conversational opportunity as a forum to discuss her newest idea for the great american novel she is constantly composing in her mind. And as much as I want to devour the pages she spouts, and not be offended by her overwhelming artistry, I can't help but scream in my mind.... wait--please. I have a manuscript for consideration as well.
I keep thinking about this time last semester, how I was counting down the minutes until I could be somewhere far, far away, in a place where I felt safe. There were so many emotions and conditions I was having to deal with, most self-inflicted, and I was ready to leave. Ready to turn a corner and never look back. Now I am five months down the road from that point in time, and I'm happy. With where I am in my life, with what I am looking forward to in the future, even if it is only the next five minutes. My days aren't broken down by half hours anymore. There is no more race for me to survive. I am not playing that game anymore.
La mama is still pretty upset. Things at her office are getting worse and worse. She has had to switch neurologists again, because our insurance has changed again, which means switching her medications. Dad is travelling more and more, chasing the sun, trying to account for lost time due to the war. Alone, she turns to me for comfort, someone to whom she can unleash the flood gates. It seems like each time I call home, our conversations keep getting longer. Well, it's not like we're talking: it's more like she needs to vent, and so I say hi and off she goes...until she runs out of words. The sad thing is, deep down we both know that she can never find enough words to describe what she is going through. Each crisis stems from an earlier dilemma, which will ultimately cause another in not too short of a time. It's all very exhausting--I don't like looking at life through her eyes. And yes she has been through a lot, but so have we all--because she is our mother. She has dragged us along with her, it's not something we can ever get out of. But honestly, I don't know if I would ever want to. It's all I've ever known.
I am not depressed, by any means. I have just had an excess of time to think about things. We still fight about my internship--in the end she says she is happy for me, for my opportunities, but we both know she is jealous. That is something that is understood. She has always had this need for competition, this insecurity that one day we will all decide we don't love her anymore and leave. So the years keep passing, and we all buy more and more expensive presents for her as we gain the means...hoping one day one package will change her mind. And back to the glass wall we go, seeing someone in so much pain and not being able to fully reach her. Some days I am so upset, so enraged that I care so much that it brings me to tears every time I think about it: how much we need her, how much she has borne for us. Every once and awhile I lose it, and flip out completely, openly. Then I have the same 30 minute rant I've had a million times before--how I need a mother, not a child. How unfair it is that I am the one who always has to listen, how my mom is too selfish to stop talking for two seconds to listen to me, to what's happening in my life.
But she reacts just like always, looking at every conversational opportunity as a forum to discuss her newest idea for the great american novel she is constantly composing in her mind. And as much as I want to devour the pages she spouts, and not be offended by her overwhelming artistry, I can't help but scream in my mind.... wait--please. I have a manuscript for consideration as well.
lasaliente, 23:16
