I’m Like… This is Hard
17 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Musings Tags: Adulthood, Mae
I’m a mess I guess. Stuck in between two chapters of the same life. The one I’m making for myself and the one that got me here. It’s been the attempt to bridge this gap that has given me sleepless nights and retching sobs while curled up on the bathroom floor. Let me back up a moment. Most people begin to write to unleash their demons because they have experienced some insane level of torture or a have a incomprehensible battle to overcome. Mine somehow seems less valid or exciting but it is as rampant as the common cold. I look around and cannot find a person who has not been touched in some way direct or inadvertent by the pain of divorce. The dreaded D word. It’s so typical and even more cliché. Oh poor little white girl whining away on some blog about how it’s unfair that daddy and mommy live in separate mansions now. Boo fucking woo. People are dying. Real hate and terror exist in this world and honestly your problems pale in comparison. Well that might all be true and it’s all a matter of perspective. However that is no reason for me not to share mine. In fact it is that very fear of feeling insignificant that has kept me from writing this down. That somehow what I’m feeling has less clout than a mother battling cancer or a child with an incurable disease. I think people tell you that to give you comfort and say “Hey, look it’s not that bad, at least you don’t have these problems” [enter et cetera list here]. So far nothing on that list has made the pain go away. I guess why I am writing is to figure out what comes next.
As an adult child of divorce I face a strange quandary. My parent’s latest fight doesn’t dictate the daily course of my life and the forming of my personality and moral fiber is already complete. “Thank God it happened when you were older” is what I have heard a lot and experienced fighting back the urge to hurl a “Fuck you” right back at the friendly stranger. It may not have as strong as impact on the pattern and routine my life but it does something to you. Something deep and unexplainable. Something that your typical sensitive privileged girl who loves where she came from can’t cope with.
Excuse me for one moment, as I’m re-reading back what I have written so far… first a radio commercial then music pumps through my window from the street below at an obnoxious volume. Some group of people. What assinine pricks think that that is appropriate when I am thinking about going to bed. I go on the deck to investigate and it’s coming from a stretch hummer limo waiting for it’s entourage before embarking on some night far more fabulous than the one that lies in front of me. A twinge of jealousy and a flood of nostalgia hit me for a time that it might have been me jetting off to some perfect night suspended in glitz and carefree of neighbors noise complaints. I have half a mind to scream at them “Turn your shit down!” then all at once it hit me. Inside of three years ago I would have been down there pumping, and if some crotch-hole neighbor bitched us out I would have flipped them off and cranked it with my head out the sunroof as we drove away, not even bothering to spend my time dwelling on a sad life they must actually have.
I’m the one with the pitiful life. It’s not me that’s bothered by the noise, its my circumstance. The fact that I have to get up at 6 am to go in early for the job I don’t like so I can leave early for a dentist appointment that I will have to copay for through my insurance is enough to make any twent pissy. Twent has got to be a word to describe that age post teenager pre adult. Or adult struggling with loss of teenager identity. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m such a huge crab. I stop myself and continue writing and I listen to the music play “When I Come Around” and “The Scientist” before that big black car glides away. I snap back and sit here and ponder what is missing. What do I want to try and get back? What did I do in youth that was so wonderful so deliciously sweet that I can still taste the nectar of indulgence and freedom just beyond my grasp? The reality is we did absolutely nothing and everything. We just killed time waiting for life to start and it was incredible what we filled the space with. Now that life has started there is no stopping it. It’s waiting in line for a ride that makes you sick. You spent all that time in the queue that when you finally get up to the chair you don’t think about it you just get on, not realizing that standing in line might have ben the most fun you will have all day. As the ride starts to get you sick you think to yourself just hold on it will be over soon enough and I can just sit still again. Fat chance dummy, this extreme life roller coaster intends to make you her bitch until you are too feeble and tired to stand. And when it finally lets you off you will have to use the handicapped exit anyway.
This is all quite sad, but mostly true. I am about finding new ways to taste nectar and squeeze juice even though the fruit is not as readily available. It’s a re-working of priorities and a general slowing down process. I’m used to always working toward something, completing a task, finishing a project. Now life is the project and I don’t want to finish any time soon.
“Waiting for the rain to stop. Destination: beautiful. Seems that I’m still waiting for the sun.”
