Lex is leaving for college tomorrow. He came over tonight to tell me good-bye and rub my bum shoulder that I hurt while raking the lawn in preparation for mowing. Then he decided to rub some other things and … well, that worked out okay.
I wish I could say that I’m going to miss him.
One of my therapists was digging around in my past the other day and said, “You’re angry, why are you not talking about your anger?”
I said, “I am angry! I know I’m angry.”
“Then why are you not talking about it?”
“I am talking about it, I just told you I was angry. I’m not sure what you want. Do you want me to tell you that my mother is a fucking bitch, because I can do that ALL DAY.”
That must have been what she wanted because she let me rant and rave for a bit. I’m not much happier with my dad for not opening his mouth and saying something all those years. Matter of fact, I may be more mad about that. I can remember my mom being mad because supposedly my dad took up for me in private. Whatever. It didn’t help anything then, and it doesn’t help anything now.
I’m not exactly sure where I found all of the strength I have, it certainly wasn’t from either of my parents.
I only saw my dad tell my mom to shut up one time. It wasn’t about me, it was about something else, but in my opinion, he should have told a bit more, instead of sitting around with his arms crossed, absorbed in the TV so he didn’t have to deal with her. No, he left that to me. Thanks Dad, thanks a whole hell of a lot.
I think one reason that I am so strong, or at least appear to be is that my mother was such a whiner. Just a whining pathetic bag of emotional tangles and depression and not much has changed. The combination of never wanting to be like that, and the stiff upper lip I developed from her emotional abuse and abandonment and my father’s literal abandonment, by staying away a lot of the time, just conditioned me to not be, what I perceived, a whining pathetic sot.
I conditioned myself to roll through life, taking the punches, left and right, and getting up, dusting myself off, and moving on. Really though, I was just shoving a bunch of shit down inside of me and now I’m spinning my wheels.
What’s really frustrating is listening to my mother yak on about Dr. Ph*l and Opr*h as though they are the end all and be all of how to better yourself. WHATEVER WOMAN! She talks about all of the people she sees on Dr. Ph*l but never has the self-awareness to realize HOW MUCH LIKE THEM SHE IS!
And my dad, Jesus H. Christ, I don’t think the man has contemplated an emotion for several years. I’m one of those people, you know, the ones who are certain they were adopted but were never told. I always thought my dad was an intelligent man, but has he ages, he shows just how ignorant and close minded he is.
Anyway, I want to learn how to play the fiddle. And I want to go back to dance class. And, instead of one story, I’m submitting several to my local paper’s “Write Your Own Column” section.
So, that’s how I feel in these early morning hours.