Does anyone remember my good ole days of writing? I used to write funny shit, light-hearted stuff, stuff about work and Nate, and even when I wrote about Jeff it was more out of a funny pity than cold, hard hate. When I wrote about religion with fervor and belief? When I still loved AZ and had stars in my eyes? Remember when I used to really write? Like poems and short stories and novellas? When I researched and put a hell of a lot of work into my writing instead of mere stream of conscious stuff? When I would spend multiple posts, sometimes a months worth, explaining the who, what, when, where, and whys of Jeff, AZ, and T-Bird? When I made up my own spells at the ends of posts and spoke of magick?
I just went back and deleted all of the doubled posts from when I transferred over from Blogger, so I took a peak into my former life. I can say its a lot of the same angst, but in there somewhere was a lot of snarkiness and passion for the written word. A reminder that I used to write fiction, long ago, and enjoyed it. That I used to post pictures of my beadwork, that I used to bead a lot more than I do now. I wrote about my experiences with my friends and my travels to see those friends. Well, I guess some things haven’t changed.
I still quote lyrics in my writing. I can still be snarky. I still use writing as therapy. I can still put together a mean blog post.
I can’t help but remember though, that it seems my life lost a lot of its light when Kevin died, when AZ got engaged and married, after the house fire.
And, I still haven’t spoken to T-Bird about her e-mail. Frankly, I haven’t found a way around the pain yet. I don’t know if I ever will. I have supported T-Bird almost unconditionally, keeping my opinions and criticisms to myself for the most part. And when I did speak up, it was gently, without malice. Keeping silent, when I could have said so much because, “one should be kind in their words, as they do not know the battles that someone else is facing.” To attack me, my son, and my parenting skills in one fell swoop, well, she may as well walked up and stabbed me in the heart.
To respond in the fashion I wish, would make me no better. We all have failings as parents, as humans, and as humanity. I’ll be the first to admit that I have a HUGE SOFT SPOT where my only child is concerned, but I’m not oblivious nor blind to his failings either. However, something has to be right, or wrong, if the only people who find fault with him are his father, who is the most negative, dreary, look for the worst in every person on Earth kind of guy, and T-Bird, who is so fucking anal about her kids, especially the one she gave birth to, that you can’t breath wrong around them that she isn’t up in arms. It almost cost us our friendship once, I’m afraid it has cost us our friendship this time.
Like I told her when she e-mailed me about responding to her first e-mail, “There’s very little I can say to make this situation better, but a whole lot I can say to make it worse.” And I mean it. You may say, “But, Nanner, if you respond honestly, she may learn something.” Since when is it my job for people to learn something? I’ve learned that my best friend could ball up 12 years of friendship and knock me in the gut with it. That’s what I’ve learned. I really don’t give a fuck what she learns.
Unfortunately, its the kids who are the losers in all this, and I don’t mean mine. I mean her’s, who call me Aunt Nanner. Especially the little ones, who saw me more than they see their own biological mother. I miss the kids. But, T-Bird was big enough to invite me to her son’s birthday party, and I will be big enough to go because I wouldn’t disappoint him and selfishly, I want to see the little ones.
So, no, I’m not the person I used to be. I wish I could find her again.