Friday, April 25, 2008
While I was Asleep
Last night I watched like a million episodes of Smallville. I finally got Season V. I'm sort of a fanatic. I've also been sick lately, so takin' Nyquil and watching Smallville has been fine for me the last couple nights.
Anyway, there's this episode where Chloe thinks she's going crazy, and she keeps telling everyone she doesn't want to be like her mom, and she's not like her mom. And then she tells Clark that after her mom left when she was 12 she ended up in a mental institution.
"Have you ever seen her or talked to her since?" Clark asked.
"No."
"But you know where she is?"
"Yes," she says.
And Clark says something about how she's still her mother, and didn't Chloe think about seeing her before it was too late?
It was like this voice in my head was saying Clark's lines and Chloe's. Because I have been having that discussion with myself for years, about my biological father.
The episode ended with Chloe going to see her mother. A woman stood at the end of the large sterile room Chloe entered, full of people meandering aimlessly. The woman stared out a window. You never see her face. Chloe goes to her and says, "Mom?" And the woman touches her arm and they hug, and that's the end.
It was an overwhelming scene, and nicely done. But I know it would never work the same way in my own life.
My cousin wrote me recently and said he had heard my father had a heart attack. A 90 percent blockage, but came out okay. When I spoke to my father for a brief time, six or seven years ago, he told me he had been in the VA hospital for a time because of some heart attacks. He still smoked two packs of Luckies a day and drank a whole pot of coffee, though. He was still an insomniac.
He tried writing to me when he found my music page, months ago. It was the same week my mother had her first surgery for the cancer, and the same week my house was broken into while I was asleep.
Another episode of Smallville. Jonathan Kent has died. Martha has gone to Metropolis to donate some of his old shirts to charity. She can't keep them in the house anymore. She can still smell his aftershave. Instead, she is attacked and mugged by gangbangers. They even snap the watch right off of her wrist. Jonathan's old watch. The one he had used to teach Clark how to tell time. Clark was too grief-stricken to accept the watch when she offered it. The thief made off with it.
When Clark finally tracked down the mugger he held him high up against a fence and was choking him. He told him it was his father's watch. The man didn't care. And Clark yelled, enraged, something about how he didn't understand how his father had to die while people like him still roamed the earth freely, taking.
Clark's words could have been my own: The rage I felt having to see my mother go through what she did, all the while my father still out and about, breaking the law, manipulating himself and others, still trying to sneak his way under my skin and into my life.
I couldn't handle everything at once, so I just did not respond. After all, why should he have all the power in our relationship? If you ever knew what his actions as well as absences has done to already determine the course of my life, you would understand. Or maybe you wouldn't. But for once, I had enough. He kept writing, and I kept not answering, and the last few ones, I didn't even read them. And I took my songs down because I didn't even want him to hear them. Because so much of the pain he caused me is in my voice.
Last night I watched like a million episodes of Smallville. I finally got Season V. I'm sort of a fanatic. I've also been sick lately, so takin' Nyquil and watching Smallville has been fine for me the last couple nights.
Anyway, there's this episode where Chloe thinks she's going crazy, and she keeps telling everyone she doesn't want to be like her mom, and she's not like her mom. And then she tells Clark that after her mom left when she was 12 she ended up in a mental institution.
"Have you ever seen her or talked to her since?" Clark asked.
"No."
"But you know where she is?"
"Yes," she says.
And Clark says something about how she's still her mother, and didn't Chloe think about seeing her before it was too late?
It was like this voice in my head was saying Clark's lines and Chloe's. Because I have been having that discussion with myself for years, about my biological father.
The episode ended with Chloe going to see her mother. A woman stood at the end of the large sterile room Chloe entered, full of people meandering aimlessly. The woman stared out a window. You never see her face. Chloe goes to her and says, "Mom?" And the woman touches her arm and they hug, and that's the end.
It was an overwhelming scene, and nicely done. But I know it would never work the same way in my own life.
My cousin wrote me recently and said he had heard my father had a heart attack. A 90 percent blockage, but came out okay. When I spoke to my father for a brief time, six or seven years ago, he told me he had been in the VA hospital for a time because of some heart attacks. He still smoked two packs of Luckies a day and drank a whole pot of coffee, though. He was still an insomniac.
He tried writing to me when he found my music page, months ago. It was the same week my mother had her first surgery for the cancer, and the same week my house was broken into while I was asleep.
Another episode of Smallville. Jonathan Kent has died. Martha has gone to Metropolis to donate some of his old shirts to charity. She can't keep them in the house anymore. She can still smell his aftershave. Instead, she is attacked and mugged by gangbangers. They even snap the watch right off of her wrist. Jonathan's old watch. The one he had used to teach Clark how to tell time. Clark was too grief-stricken to accept the watch when she offered it. The thief made off with it.
When Clark finally tracked down the mugger he held him high up against a fence and was choking him. He told him it was his father's watch. The man didn't care. And Clark yelled, enraged, something about how he didn't understand how his father had to die while people like him still roamed the earth freely, taking.
Clark's words could have been my own: The rage I felt having to see my mother go through what she did, all the while my father still out and about, breaking the law, manipulating himself and others, still trying to sneak his way under my skin and into my life.
I couldn't handle everything at once, so I just did not respond. After all, why should he have all the power in our relationship? If you ever knew what his actions as well as absences has done to already determine the course of my life, you would understand. Or maybe you wouldn't. But for once, I had enough. He kept writing, and I kept not answering, and the last few ones, I didn't even read them. And I took my songs down because I didn't even want him to hear them. Because so much of the pain he caused me is in my voice.
Labels: Cancer, Deadbeat Dads, Relationships, Smallville
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Last Night
The best part of my entire day was doing nothing. Doing nothing except one of the most important things one needs to do in order to exist. To exist on some level where you can deal with everything, and be part of it, and allow it to be part of you.
Last night, the best part of my night was lying on the couch with Nikki and talking about nothing and everything and letting our streams of consciousness run and listening and offering thoughts back and forth.
She just moved to her new apartment, and it's nice and cozy, but she doesn't have electricity yet, you know, that whole five business day thing, so it was cold and rainy outside, and dark and cold inside, with the exception of a blanket we shared and a couple of battery-powered lamps her father gave her.
We bundled up on her couch across from each other, and covered up, huddling with the pillows, and just let our minds unwind.
Nikki and I have seen each other through so much. We've loved each other; we've hated it each other. We've been roommates, we've fought; we've ordered pizza and french fries and watched Smallville episodes one after another; we've spent entire days drinking scotch; we've read each other our poetry; we've cried together about boys; we've gone out to Chapultey and split Nachos and a veggie burger so we could have the best of both worlds; we've shared an umbrella; we've taken substances together and acted a fool, making stories in the present we could laugh about in the future; we've confided in each other about so many things; we've encouraged each other; we call each other up just to see how life is going; we once were in a band together, and every time I play an open mic she is there to cheer me on; we talk about all our dreams and fears and idiosyncrasies; we've talked about the worst things we've ever done, and the worst things we've ever thought; we've forgiven each other for things when we could not even forgive ourselves; we remind each other that we are human even when we are feeling the most painful measures of what it is to be human; we've had coffee and tea, and spent entire days watching crime shows or the history channel; and we're there for each other no matter what.
No matter what. That is the point we have gotten to. The kind of love that is like family. It IS family. It's a feeling of intimacy and history and love that is almost too much to comprehend, because this kind of thing can seem so inevitable and simple yet bigger than ourselves.
What is it in the universe that brings some people together, and what is it about human beings that makes us need it so much, even in times when we want to deny it from ourselves.
I felt so grateful for life and my friends, and love in every sense that it comes to you in life. And what a lucky thing it is for any number of people to get to know each other that well, and to still be interested, and caring and compassionate, taking in all the good and bad with an indescribable empathy and acceptance so beyond wonder it is as much a miracle as it is a fact. A fact worth remembering, seeking, and finding over and over again, because these little discoveries, as Nikki once said, are what keep us so young through all the many lives we lead.
The best part of my entire day was doing nothing. Doing nothing except one of the most important things one needs to do in order to exist. To exist on some level where you can deal with everything, and be part of it, and allow it to be part of you.
Last night, the best part of my night was lying on the couch with Nikki and talking about nothing and everything and letting our streams of consciousness run and listening and offering thoughts back and forth.
She just moved to her new apartment, and it's nice and cozy, but she doesn't have electricity yet, you know, that whole five business day thing, so it was cold and rainy outside, and dark and cold inside, with the exception of a blanket we shared and a couple of battery-powered lamps her father gave her.
We bundled up on her couch across from each other, and covered up, huddling with the pillows, and just let our minds unwind.
Nikki and I have seen each other through so much. We've loved each other; we've hated it each other. We've been roommates, we've fought; we've ordered pizza and french fries and watched Smallville episodes one after another; we've spent entire days drinking scotch; we've read each other our poetry; we've cried together about boys; we've gone out to Chapultey and split Nachos and a veggie burger so we could have the best of both worlds; we've shared an umbrella; we've taken substances together and acted a fool, making stories in the present we could laugh about in the future; we've confided in each other about so many things; we've encouraged each other; we call each other up just to see how life is going; we once were in a band together, and every time I play an open mic she is there to cheer me on; we talk about all our dreams and fears and idiosyncrasies; we've talked about the worst things we've ever done, and the worst things we've ever thought; we've forgiven each other for things when we could not even forgive ourselves; we remind each other that we are human even when we are feeling the most painful measures of what it is to be human; we've had coffee and tea, and spent entire days watching crime shows or the history channel; and we're there for each other no matter what.
No matter what. That is the point we have gotten to. The kind of love that is like family. It IS family. It's a feeling of intimacy and history and love that is almost too much to comprehend, because this kind of thing can seem so inevitable and simple yet bigger than ourselves.
What is it in the universe that brings some people together, and what is it about human beings that makes us need it so much, even in times when we want to deny it from ourselves.
I felt so grateful for life and my friends, and love in every sense that it comes to you in life. And what a lucky thing it is for any number of people to get to know each other that well, and to still be interested, and caring and compassionate, taking in all the good and bad with an indescribable empathy and acceptance so beyond wonder it is as much a miracle as it is a fact. A fact worth remembering, seeking, and finding over and over again, because these little discoveries, as Nikki once said, are what keep us so young through all the many lives we lead.
Labels: Friendship, Relationships, Smallville
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Thursday, never looking back ...
It's not Thursday, but I did write this on Thursday and became leary of posting it. Also found the Cure lyric suitable in a way ...
...
I'm not a yo-yo.
Or a boomerang that's just caught in a tree.
I have breaking points just like everyone else.
It's almost too much to take. It is too much to take, for a sane person.
How much are you supposed to give when you really love somebody?
It really is a delicate balance, the pendulum swinging from my needs to his.
Lately I've been thinking of my own again.
You can't help it.
I might get angry sometimes. I might screw up. That's part of a relationship. We're talking about human beings here.
But you can't just be in a relationship and go back and forth about how you feel. Or how you need space. You need this. You need that. You have this and that on your plate. And the other person is just supposed to deal with it.
I don't care if the moon is full.
This is about the least fair thing ever.
So I'm up at five a.m. again. Have to work 10 hours tomorrow. I'll sleep it off soon. I almost always do.
...
Now today I am alone. Tonight and tomorrow. I got home after a long day and night, too much coffee and pictures of words and faces and memories and conversations blurring beyond comprehension because i would rather type and try not to think.
I walked in the door and they all stared at me.
"We broke up. I don't feel like talking. I'm going to bed," I said.
And then it was goodnight. But not goodnight 'cause it's almost morning. And here I am.
...
My grandmother is in town. She is my hero. I'm going to see her tomorrow at my mom's house. My mom just had surgery on her shoulder. She's got physical therapy three times a week for now, until it heals some more. I haven't even seen my mom since she went in. I was working tons of hours and my phone broke, but she assured me I didn't need to go with her. My dad went with her.
...
I'm going back to school, and I'm excited and scared. For one thing, all the classes are fucking full. I still have to pay UH some money, and the semester starts in less than two weeks.
I'm also trying to think of a way to go full time and not go crazy.
I'm also thinking about going back to the Cougar to edit copy, if they would have me. Because I miss it.
Oh, yeah, some other things too: Speaking of Thursday, I played open mic at Helios again. I hadn't gone in awhile with moving and work and drama and bull shit, but I'm so glad I went.
I had a really late spot, because I didn't show up till like 10 p.m. to get on the list, but of the people who were still there, the majority loved my stuff. I offered up free copies of my demo. I only brought a few, and I ran out. So I'm getting more copies made to bring next week.
The responses I got were overwhelmingly positive. People really liked and identified with my songs, not to mention musically, they liked it.
I now feel even more empowered to do more. To try harder. To put myself out there ...
What else can I tell you?
I'm done. I think it's Smallville time, then bedtime.
Oh, and the blogging's picking up now that I have internet at home. It's pretty sweet.
It's not Thursday, but I did write this on Thursday and became leary of posting it. Also found the Cure lyric suitable in a way ...
...
I'm not a yo-yo.
Or a boomerang that's just caught in a tree.
I have breaking points just like everyone else.
It's almost too much to take. It is too much to take, for a sane person.
How much are you supposed to give when you really love somebody?
It really is a delicate balance, the pendulum swinging from my needs to his.
Lately I've been thinking of my own again.
You can't help it.
I might get angry sometimes. I might screw up. That's part of a relationship. We're talking about human beings here.
But you can't just be in a relationship and go back and forth about how you feel. Or how you need space. You need this. You need that. You have this and that on your plate. And the other person is just supposed to deal with it.
I don't care if the moon is full.
This is about the least fair thing ever.
So I'm up at five a.m. again. Have to work 10 hours tomorrow. I'll sleep it off soon. I almost always do.
...
Now today I am alone. Tonight and tomorrow. I got home after a long day and night, too much coffee and pictures of words and faces and memories and conversations blurring beyond comprehension because i would rather type and try not to think.
I walked in the door and they all stared at me.
"We broke up. I don't feel like talking. I'm going to bed," I said.
And then it was goodnight. But not goodnight 'cause it's almost morning. And here I am.
...
My grandmother is in town. She is my hero. I'm going to see her tomorrow at my mom's house. My mom just had surgery on her shoulder. She's got physical therapy three times a week for now, until it heals some more. I haven't even seen my mom since she went in. I was working tons of hours and my phone broke, but she assured me I didn't need to go with her. My dad went with her.
...
I'm going back to school, and I'm excited and scared. For one thing, all the classes are fucking full. I still have to pay UH some money, and the semester starts in less than two weeks.
I'm also trying to think of a way to go full time and not go crazy.
I'm also thinking about going back to the Cougar to edit copy, if they would have me. Because I miss it.
Oh, yeah, some other things too: Speaking of Thursday, I played open mic at Helios again. I hadn't gone in awhile with moving and work and drama and bull shit, but I'm so glad I went.
I had a really late spot, because I didn't show up till like 10 p.m. to get on the list, but of the people who were still there, the majority loved my stuff. I offered up free copies of my demo. I only brought a few, and I ran out. So I'm getting more copies made to bring next week.
The responses I got were overwhelmingly positive. People really liked and identified with my songs, not to mention musically, they liked it.
I now feel even more empowered to do more. To try harder. To put myself out there ...
What else can I tell you?
I'm done. I think it's Smallville time, then bedtime.
Oh, and the blogging's picking up now that I have internet at home. It's pretty sweet.
Labels: Breaking Up, Insomnia, Relationships, Smallville
