I have plenty I could be doing right now. In fact, I have a whole to-do list.
I'm roughly 3 weeks behind on posts for Waiting for Walt if I want to finish my CP posts before I start my new program. I have new things to discover and play around with on my new website. I have editing to do, promotion to do, debuting to do. I should go home and see my dad for the first time in 48 hours.
But I'm sitting here at Smokey Row trying to write one of my posts and I keep having flashbacks to being on a tram. I'm riding on the platform and Morgado is sauntering up to me from the lot with some smart-ass comment or I'm standing at point in the lot and chatting to Andy, and Vince, and Justin. I can't do this tonight. I thought I needed to write, but I can't focus enough on the task at hand.
Maybe it's just the day. It is his birthday after all.
This day has almost come and gone with no significance. For nine months I've been trying desperately to figure out why 3-1-8 sounded so familiar, why those numbers stuck out. Now here I am, convinced that something was going to happen today, but nothing has. I messaged Steve, he replied in a kind way. I'm still broken.
I don't know what is wrong with me. I'm sitting in this perfectly nice coffee shop listening to George Strait(which admittedly probably isn't helping) trying to write and I'm just distracted and sad. 50 days to go before I leave and start all over. No time at all, and yet all the time in the world. I'm so scared to leave, a different kind of afraid than before. I'm excited, but this time I'm afraid to fail. Before, it was the fear of the completely unknown. I know now a few crucial details that will help me along, but failure is still an option. And what the Hell am I doing with my life? What if I have to come home and face everyone after failing yet again? Failed school, failed Disney, failed myself. It seems like a dark and ominous road to be honest.
I'm trying not to lose the thread. I'm trying to remember to take one day at a time. But I'm scared and I'm going against everything I have known. I hope that you would still be proud of me.
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Still Hurting
I don't even know if I want to write about this. If this is something that I need to put down and have forever, but Lord knows that writing seems to be cathartic for me.
Last week, dad and I had a huge fight. Now we've had arguments before, raised voices and rolling eyes, but nothing like this. Slamming doors, yelling over each other, actual anger. And words that should have gone unsaid. Words that didn't come me. Now this blog is for me most of the time, so there's no reason for me to lie here. I'm being objective in this. I may have yelled and stormed out of the room showing immaturity in my actions, but I did not say anything designed to hurt my father's feelings. Trust me, there were 100 things that came to mind during and after that would have cut him to the quick, but I refrained because I didn't want to be the person that resorted to hurtful words.
I don't know if it matters why the argument started anymore, but rather the words said and the aftermath of the fight. Perhaps he was angry for other reasons, feeling depressed and needed an outlet for all of the pent up emotion. Or maybe he was actually angry with me. I don't really know. I do know that I don't feel comfortable or welcome in the house right now. I know that I can't wait until I can move 1300 miles away. I know that I am still hurting.
I am following my dreams. I am chasing my heart, following the path I know I should be taking, and apparently that's a disappointment to him. Hey, I get it. I didn't finish school in 3, 4, 5 years. I didn't study mathematics or engineering. I didn't pass every class with flying colors. I didn't live up to the dream you had in your head. I can totally see how those things might make you sad, Hell, maybe even disappointed. For a minute. Then, if I was in your situation looking at my own child, I would realize that my child is an adult. Their own person who must in turn follow their own path. I don't have children so I can't say I fully understand the whole "not wanting them to make my same mistakes" thing, but I get the gist of it and all I can say to that is that sometimes you have to just let someone fall and learn on their own.
I'm sorry that I won't be finishing school in the next year. That wasn't going to happen anyway.
I'm sorry I'm not following the path you had laid out in your head.
I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect carbon copy of you that you wanted me to be.
I'm sorry that your life isn't fulfilling and you're jealous that mine is.
I'm sorry that mom left you.
I'm sorry that you raised me to think for myself and have my own thoughts, and now that those thoughts differ from you, you find that upsetting.
I'm sorry that you feel like you have the right to tell me you're disappointed in me because I'm going to be happy.
And on second thought, I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL. Just because you are stuck in the same place you've been in for 50 years doesn't mean I have to be. You don't have to be so miserable, trust me. It's easy to fall into the hole, I know that very well. When the same old feelings sneak up, it's almost simpler to just let it consume you than to fight, because fighting is exhausting. However, at some point, you have to take responsibility for yourself. You can't just float on through blaming the depression and blaming my mom. Take a look at yourself and realize that if you want to be happy, you have to make a goddamn effort. Either that or continue to wallow, but don't expect anyone to feel sorry for you, and you sure as Hell don't get to take it out on anyone. Maybe Disney will be a huge failure, maybe this program will be the worst experience of my life, maybe I'll regret every second, and maybe I'll be home in six months. You'd probably like that, so you can tell me you were right all along. I'm willing to bet though that it's going to be amazing and I'm going to have a great time. That I'll spend a few years making magic and filling my heart, and then I'll finish school and follow the next path in front of me.
Just because you're "a hurt old man," doesn't excuse a damn word you said to me. If you can't recognize that you shouldn't say every single thought that comes to your mind, that telling someone how you feel shouldn't come at the cost of their feelings, that maybe brutal honesty isn't always the way to go (especially regarding your children), if you can't understand how telling your child "you disappoint me," could possibly hurt your feelings, then I can do nothing to help you. I mean sure, if I was murdering people or if I was in jail for some heinous crime, I could totally see being disappointed in me. It's pretty shameful though to believe that you're in the right for telling me those things for simply living my own life. Maybe you think that all of this has blown over, that it's all fine and dandy. And honestly, I wish that I could call you out for the bullshit apology you gave me. "I'm sorry you feel that way," is no apology at all. It's deflecting and it's designed to make me feel even worse for having my feelings. And by the way, I'm not too thin-skinned to handle a mature argument or conversation. I am entirely allowed to be hurt or upset by anything anyone says to me whether you deem it "enough" or not. You don't get to say hurtful things designed to make me feel bad and then backtrack and you cannot tell me or anyone else when you did or did not hurt my feelings. That's not how that works.
Oh, and another thing- it's pretty damn condescending to tell me that I sound like my mother. Perhaps, just maybe, if we sound alike, the common factor between us is not just blood relation. That's another thing you don't seem to understand. No, you don't get to tell me how you feel about my mother and the divorce. You can tell literally any other person in your life, but you do not get to make snarky comments or continue to blame her, or shame me for going to dinner with her once a fucking week. Do you know how many more times I get to see her before I go to Disney? Eight. I live in your house, I am a human presence in your every day life, and providing I can see my mother once a week until I leave, I get to see her eight more times. How dare you make me feel bad for rebuilding that relationship. Shame on you for even letting those words come out of your mouth. You don't get to tell me it feels like I'm rubbing it in your face, and then say "no no, it's great. Really, you should see your mother." You're goddamn right I should. And I will continue to see her as often as I please. You don't get to throw those things in my face, tell me I must not be disappointed in my mother when you know damn well I spent the better part of a year barely talking to her, and then say that you're glad we're getting along now. I'm sorry you're still hurt, no one expects you to just be over something like that immediately, but at some point, you can't blame her anymore. You have to take a good hard look at the role you played, accept your own responsibility, and move on. You don't get to be the poor baby for the rest of your life in this. I am far enough removed from my initial anger to see the mistakes on both sides, and at 67, you should be mature enough to do the same.
I'd really have loved to be a fly on the wall in your doctor's office today. Or when you called Kathy that night. I would have loved to hear what you had to say about me. Was I selfish and bratty? Was I overreacting and irrational? Was I rude, disrespectful, and hurtful? Do I not appreciate anything I have? Oh hey, can you point to something now, some tangible proof that I don't appreciate the things you've done for me? Still drawing a blank, huh? Interesting. Funny how the moment I break from you, how when I buy my own groceries with my own money and ask you not to eat them because I'm pretty poor as it turns out, funny how then your feelings are hurt. Interesting how my independence seems to threaten you. Maybe it's because I'm leaving, and you'll be alone again, something you remind me of frequently. Maybe it's because I'm going somewhere you've always wanted to go. I don't know the reason, but I gotta tell you, it's pretty damn selfish to put that on your kid. It's not my fault for growing up, and it's not my fault for being taught to be true to myself.
The worst of it all is that you believe you did the right thing. You believe you did nothing wrong, that I'm too sensitive and that because you're my father you had the right to say everything you did to me. I couldn't possibly bring all of this up again without being labeled as immature for not letting it go, too sensitive, or unappreciative. And I know I'll never change your mind. Really, I don't want to. However, a real honest apology would be nice. But I know I won't get that either. And that is the sad part. To realize that no matter what happens, you won't see this as a monumental shift in our relationship. I have to live with the words you said, knowing you see no fault in them, knowing you believe them to some degree, but that you have no remorse for hurting my feelings.
So there it is, the words I'll never get to say. It's a really sad moment when you see your parents from the outside and they are not who you always believed they were. I had that moment with my mom almost four years ago, and I've had it now with my dad a week ago. I hope some day I can be strong enough to move past this feeling, but right now I am still hurting, I am still upset, and I still have to pretend to be fine.
Last week, dad and I had a huge fight. Now we've had arguments before, raised voices and rolling eyes, but nothing like this. Slamming doors, yelling over each other, actual anger. And words that should have gone unsaid. Words that didn't come me. Now this blog is for me most of the time, so there's no reason for me to lie here. I'm being objective in this. I may have yelled and stormed out of the room showing immaturity in my actions, but I did not say anything designed to hurt my father's feelings. Trust me, there were 100 things that came to mind during and after that would have cut him to the quick, but I refrained because I didn't want to be the person that resorted to hurtful words.
I don't know if it matters why the argument started anymore, but rather the words said and the aftermath of the fight. Perhaps he was angry for other reasons, feeling depressed and needed an outlet for all of the pent up emotion. Or maybe he was actually angry with me. I don't really know. I do know that I don't feel comfortable or welcome in the house right now. I know that I can't wait until I can move 1300 miles away. I know that I am still hurting.
I am following my dreams. I am chasing my heart, following the path I know I should be taking, and apparently that's a disappointment to him. Hey, I get it. I didn't finish school in 3, 4, 5 years. I didn't study mathematics or engineering. I didn't pass every class with flying colors. I didn't live up to the dream you had in your head. I can totally see how those things might make you sad, Hell, maybe even disappointed. For a minute. Then, if I was in your situation looking at my own child, I would realize that my child is an adult. Their own person who must in turn follow their own path. I don't have children so I can't say I fully understand the whole "not wanting them to make my same mistakes" thing, but I get the gist of it and all I can say to that is that sometimes you have to just let someone fall and learn on their own.
I'm sorry that I won't be finishing school in the next year. That wasn't going to happen anyway.
I'm sorry I'm not following the path you had laid out in your head.
I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect carbon copy of you that you wanted me to be.
I'm sorry that your life isn't fulfilling and you're jealous that mine is.
I'm sorry that mom left you.
I'm sorry that you raised me to think for myself and have my own thoughts, and now that those thoughts differ from you, you find that upsetting.
I'm sorry that you feel like you have the right to tell me you're disappointed in me because I'm going to be happy.
And on second thought, I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL. Just because you are stuck in the same place you've been in for 50 years doesn't mean I have to be. You don't have to be so miserable, trust me. It's easy to fall into the hole, I know that very well. When the same old feelings sneak up, it's almost simpler to just let it consume you than to fight, because fighting is exhausting. However, at some point, you have to take responsibility for yourself. You can't just float on through blaming the depression and blaming my mom. Take a look at yourself and realize that if you want to be happy, you have to make a goddamn effort. Either that or continue to wallow, but don't expect anyone to feel sorry for you, and you sure as Hell don't get to take it out on anyone. Maybe Disney will be a huge failure, maybe this program will be the worst experience of my life, maybe I'll regret every second, and maybe I'll be home in six months. You'd probably like that, so you can tell me you were right all along. I'm willing to bet though that it's going to be amazing and I'm going to have a great time. That I'll spend a few years making magic and filling my heart, and then I'll finish school and follow the next path in front of me.
Just because you're "a hurt old man," doesn't excuse a damn word you said to me. If you can't recognize that you shouldn't say every single thought that comes to your mind, that telling someone how you feel shouldn't come at the cost of their feelings, that maybe brutal honesty isn't always the way to go (especially regarding your children), if you can't understand how telling your child "you disappoint me," could possibly hurt your feelings, then I can do nothing to help you. I mean sure, if I was murdering people or if I was in jail for some heinous crime, I could totally see being disappointed in me. It's pretty shameful though to believe that you're in the right for telling me those things for simply living my own life. Maybe you think that all of this has blown over, that it's all fine and dandy. And honestly, I wish that I could call you out for the bullshit apology you gave me. "I'm sorry you feel that way," is no apology at all. It's deflecting and it's designed to make me feel even worse for having my feelings. And by the way, I'm not too thin-skinned to handle a mature argument or conversation. I am entirely allowed to be hurt or upset by anything anyone says to me whether you deem it "enough" or not. You don't get to say hurtful things designed to make me feel bad and then backtrack and you cannot tell me or anyone else when you did or did not hurt my feelings. That's not how that works.
Oh, and another thing- it's pretty damn condescending to tell me that I sound like my mother. Perhaps, just maybe, if we sound alike, the common factor between us is not just blood relation. That's another thing you don't seem to understand. No, you don't get to tell me how you feel about my mother and the divorce. You can tell literally any other person in your life, but you do not get to make snarky comments or continue to blame her, or shame me for going to dinner with her once a fucking week. Do you know how many more times I get to see her before I go to Disney? Eight. I live in your house, I am a human presence in your every day life, and providing I can see my mother once a week until I leave, I get to see her eight more times. How dare you make me feel bad for rebuilding that relationship. Shame on you for even letting those words come out of your mouth. You don't get to tell me it feels like I'm rubbing it in your face, and then say "no no, it's great. Really, you should see your mother." You're goddamn right I should. And I will continue to see her as often as I please. You don't get to throw those things in my face, tell me I must not be disappointed in my mother when you know damn well I spent the better part of a year barely talking to her, and then say that you're glad we're getting along now. I'm sorry you're still hurt, no one expects you to just be over something like that immediately, but at some point, you can't blame her anymore. You have to take a good hard look at the role you played, accept your own responsibility, and move on. You don't get to be the poor baby for the rest of your life in this. I am far enough removed from my initial anger to see the mistakes on both sides, and at 67, you should be mature enough to do the same.
I'd really have loved to be a fly on the wall in your doctor's office today. Or when you called Kathy that night. I would have loved to hear what you had to say about me. Was I selfish and bratty? Was I overreacting and irrational? Was I rude, disrespectful, and hurtful? Do I not appreciate anything I have? Oh hey, can you point to something now, some tangible proof that I don't appreciate the things you've done for me? Still drawing a blank, huh? Interesting. Funny how the moment I break from you, how when I buy my own groceries with my own money and ask you not to eat them because I'm pretty poor as it turns out, funny how then your feelings are hurt. Interesting how my independence seems to threaten you. Maybe it's because I'm leaving, and you'll be alone again, something you remind me of frequently. Maybe it's because I'm going somewhere you've always wanted to go. I don't know the reason, but I gotta tell you, it's pretty damn selfish to put that on your kid. It's not my fault for growing up, and it's not my fault for being taught to be true to myself.
The worst of it all is that you believe you did the right thing. You believe you did nothing wrong, that I'm too sensitive and that because you're my father you had the right to say everything you did to me. I couldn't possibly bring all of this up again without being labeled as immature for not letting it go, too sensitive, or unappreciative. And I know I'll never change your mind. Really, I don't want to. However, a real honest apology would be nice. But I know I won't get that either. And that is the sad part. To realize that no matter what happens, you won't see this as a monumental shift in our relationship. I have to live with the words you said, knowing you see no fault in them, knowing you believe them to some degree, but that you have no remorse for hurting my feelings.
So there it is, the words I'll never get to say. It's a really sad moment when you see your parents from the outside and they are not who you always believed they were. I had that moment with my mom almost four years ago, and I've had it now with my dad a week ago. I hope some day I can be strong enough to move past this feeling, but right now I am still hurting, I am still upset, and I still have to pretend to be fine.
Friday, March 3, 2017
Tea and Muffins
Thank God for Morgan Street Cafe.
No, really. Not that I was walking around shady Chicago or fearing for my safety, but if I had to walk past one more cafe or walk inside and buy a "courtesy drink" only to not find a seat, I was probably gonna call it a lost cause. That, or walk back to Target.
Some backstory: I'm in Chicago this weekend with Alyssa while she goes through the audition process for the character performer role. This morning is the audition, so after dropping her off at the door to the Hubbard Dance Studio, I went on a search to find a coffee shop where I could post up and write a little. I thought I might order a tea, find a cozy spot and write about how much of a hipster I am.
Yeah, right.
I ended up walking a large square down Racine, right on Madison, back down Morgan until I found this cafe. Across one street and to the right down West Jackson and I'll be back where I started, but I'm not all that bitter, I promise. I had to walk through three shops and order two drinks that I didn't take more than 2 sips of (that's about $10 wasted) to find this little cafe on the corner of Morgan and Adams. I'm sitting at the bar by the window while I write, the community corkboard to my left. Flyers for music shows, quality dog walking, and various businesses cover the walls. Behind me is the counter and kitchen with two large boards covered in the menu. I ordered a Twinning's tea and a lemon poppy seed muffin, but I might have to stick around and order lunch too because a quesadilla sounds really good!
I few minutes ago I had a police officer and a contractor sitting next to me, having a conversation with one another about Chicago and how glad they are to be able to serve the city they love. It was pleasant to overhear a conversation between two men of different races agreeing on the state of their city and how proud they were to be here- something that seems to happen rarely these days. I felt honored to sit next to them and overhear an exchange that restored my faith in my fellow man.
I'm in West Loop this afternoon, a place that is fairly wealthy and reminds me of the East Village. Young population, expensive shops, hipster vibe. Yet in the middle of it all, I have found a place to sit and relax and call my afternoon home. So thank you Morgan Street Cafe! You saved me from lugging my computer all over creation, and you supplied me with a healthy dose of humanity. I'm not even from this city and I'm proud of it too.
No, really. Not that I was walking around shady Chicago or fearing for my safety, but if I had to walk past one more cafe or walk inside and buy a "courtesy drink" only to not find a seat, I was probably gonna call it a lost cause. That, or walk back to Target.
Some backstory: I'm in Chicago this weekend with Alyssa while she goes through the audition process for the character performer role. This morning is the audition, so after dropping her off at the door to the Hubbard Dance Studio, I went on a search to find a coffee shop where I could post up and write a little. I thought I might order a tea, find a cozy spot and write about how much of a hipster I am.
Yeah, right.
I ended up walking a large square down Racine, right on Madison, back down Morgan until I found this cafe. Across one street and to the right down West Jackson and I'll be back where I started, but I'm not all that bitter, I promise. I had to walk through three shops and order two drinks that I didn't take more than 2 sips of (that's about $10 wasted) to find this little cafe on the corner of Morgan and Adams. I'm sitting at the bar by the window while I write, the community corkboard to my left. Flyers for music shows, quality dog walking, and various businesses cover the walls. Behind me is the counter and kitchen with two large boards covered in the menu. I ordered a Twinning's tea and a lemon poppy seed muffin, but I might have to stick around and order lunch too because a quesadilla sounds really good!
I few minutes ago I had a police officer and a contractor sitting next to me, having a conversation with one another about Chicago and how glad they are to be able to serve the city they love. It was pleasant to overhear a conversation between two men of different races agreeing on the state of their city and how proud they were to be here- something that seems to happen rarely these days. I felt honored to sit next to them and overhear an exchange that restored my faith in my fellow man.
I'm in West Loop this afternoon, a place that is fairly wealthy and reminds me of the East Village. Young population, expensive shops, hipster vibe. Yet in the middle of it all, I have found a place to sit and relax and call my afternoon home. So thank you Morgan Street Cafe! You saved me from lugging my computer all over creation, and you supplied me with a healthy dose of humanity. I'm not even from this city and I'm proud of it too.
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