Where women glow and men plunder
Can’t you hear, can’t you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover…
My stepmother was hospitalized for a depression. For like, a day or so, before she realized the place made her depressed. Ha. Can’t blame her, not this time. I do however, hold her responsible for ending up there in the first place.
Her divorced parents are getting back together, resulting in all sorts of unwelcome stress. On top of that, her father got a heart attack in France and she basically just collapsed around the same time (Enough personal info for you?). Some people are just stronger than others, I know this. I don’t expect everyone to stay standing as long as others. But in this particular case, those "others" simply don’t carry as much hate and resentment inside as she does. When my sister came home from her skiing vacation my father had to ask her not to come home so that things would remain calm. She was there at the train station with the whole company, being one of the crew, with everyone around her smiling and laughing and telling there parents all the things they did. Being told, not to come home. Just… elsewhere. Anywhere but home. I could punch my father for this, but I do see he is caught in the middle.
So now my sister is elsewhere, as she often is. With friends, on another trip, just… anywhere but home. It’s no longer a welcoming place, as it hasn’t been for a long time. So what’s the result? A giant villa, built for a warm family of 4, with just my father in it. Alone. While all he wanted was to bring everyone together.
It was while thinking about this that I realized, he has been alone for a long long time. Husband, father, colleague and friend, and yet… no warmth for him. He just gets by, as everyone in this building seems to do. "Hope is life," is what I heard him say today. I told him, I am less than an hour away if he needed help with anything. The garden, maintaining the house… Balled up emotions or loneliness, but those remained unsaid. We don’t have that kind of relationship, and those speak for themselves, right?
My father loves everyone, and everyone loves my father. It’s just, each other that they hate. And repulsing individuals can’t be brought under one roof to live together, sad but true. Try as he might. He’s a popular man, a loveable character. He’s a lousy father and even I can see it, the caring man he is. It seems almost impossible for him to end up alone like this. But again, he gets by. He has the same tendency to analyze like I do. Or probably more specifically, I have the same tendency as him. I might have gotten it from him, not sure. Either way, it allows us to see a situation clearly, or at least as much as possible from our distorted perspective. We do have feelings.
It’s easier to see the way out when the walls are see-trough. This, in contrary to his wife, makes my father a strong man; he can hope like no other. She has agreed, proposed even, to get professional help. If she lives up to her promise, I know my father will guide her every step of the way. Idiot that he is, he loves her.
And we love him. I love him. But can I guide him? For 23 years, I don’t think I’ve told him once that I am proud of him like every son should be of his father; and neither did he tell me. We just know. Not when and where, but undoubtably there must have been peaks of sort, where pride and love where deeply felt, in silence.
In this quiet mutual affection I grew up, and now the tables have turned. I offered to take my sister for some time after I’ve moved, if he provides some financial support. I offered him both my hands, I pray that he knows they carry my heart. It’s his to begin with.
Meantime, my girlfriend is off to the Phillipines. 3 days late, because she forgot about her passport. 3 days of frustration and amazement that no one bothered to mention she would need one. Granted, it seems pretty obvious, but hey they did tell her to take clear fucking underware.
Christ James Keenan, They could turn us into a relaity soap. Every individual’s got something going on, problems of their own to deal with, big or small.
Days like these (of our lives. Fucking shit I’m funny) are kind of difficult for me. My girlfriend’s ordeal specifically, mostly because I am expected to support her. She’s taken it quite badly -who wouldn’t- and I spent many an hour telling her it would be alright. I must admit however, I do admire her persistence. Where I would have called it off and curse like a bitch and move on, she grabbed her phone and re-scheduled her flight, arranged the passport in 2 days, and off she was.
But on topic, I really hate other people’s problems stacking on top of mine like this. Yes of course, I want to be there for them, and I’ll be fucked the day I will tell them "No, I have problems of my own". I’m not wired that way.
But still. When you’re sick, and you’ve had a horrible day at the job, and you’re homeless, and ah damnit you forgot to call the telephone company about you moving and your bike might be stolen when you get home because the lock is on another bike… what do you tell your girlfriend when she wakes you up on the phone saying "I’m feeling terrible again"? Not much, in my case. Uh huh. I know, sweet. It’ll be alright.
I know, I know. It’s so fucking hard not to behave like an asshole. "I hate to sound insensitive but it’s what I am, so that’s how it comes out" -Bill Hicks. As always, the man’s right.
At times like these, like this weekend or during examns, my girlfriend needs me more than ever. And I know exactly what she needs, too. To be held, talked to, listened to. It’s easy, uncomplicated. However, it gets a little more troublesome when I need her around the same time. And I need things vastly different: to be left alone, for my terrible mood to be dealt with. No nagging, no oversensitive whining about shit that really, honestly, I don’t give a fuck about (in the current mood, that is). It is at that time exactly that I find myself at a loss of words. I have ears so I can listen, but the hard part is when I need to tell her something. I can manage "it’ll be alright" but it just sounds like "What are you moaning about". It’s hard, and I still haven’t figured out a way to bypass this.
And of course, before I forget to mention, I hate to see her unhappy. It makes me unhappy. It stresses me out when she’s stressed.
So for all those reasons and three million thousand ten hundred reasons more, I’m glad she’s on the plane right now. I hope it doesn’t crash like they tend to. And I hope she had the time of her life when I see her again, so the torture of me missing her will be justified. And I hope she’ll carry this aura of fists, with a scar along the left widdle finger so everyone will know they’re mine, that will painfully murder any Pillipino trying to get into her panties and mutilate those that concider it. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR??