Sometimes I wish people would go away so I can do everything my way.

Dear Leigh,

This is a long one.

I'm feeling pretty uninspired, at the moment, but at the same time hopeful.  Could be the weather--very gray.  On the one hand, I'm upset because I just had to leave my cat with my parents for a couple of months due to the edict of J's roommate, who cannot stand messes of any kind, even if they are a tiny dot of poo that an excited feline left on the carpet after leaving the litterbox slightly prematurely...

I'm also frustrated that I cannot know precisely what is going to happen in the next six months or the next year and a half.  I'm only contracted for 9 months at a time, which leaves me lost for the three months of summer.  In addition, J is feeling that he doesn't like nor does he fit into the academic world (can't blame him; I'm starting to hate it), so he might not go to grad school for his mfa.  Which is fine with me, actually, except that I don't want to be in Blacksburg after I graduate, and if he doesn't get an assistantship somewhere I don't know where else we'll go.  I believe I've exhausted this town.  

On the other hand, I'm excited about the apartment J and I leased for next year (nice and quirky with 60s appliances and wood floors), I'm excited about finally getting to teach my own classes, and I'm excited about what I've come up with for my thesis.  Also, the possibilities opened up if J doesn't go to grad school make me a little giddy.  His point is that he's continually putting off living the way he wants to by saying "well, first I have to do ____."  So, why not just be brave and live the way we want to?  He's already got a bit of land that his granddad will give to him, and if we both get salaried jobs--even if they're just at sandwich shops--we could get a nice enough loan to create a home.

I guess that's really what I feel like I'm missing right now.  A home.  My belongings are split between two places, my cat is with my parents because I have to accommodate three different roommates (two of which will be newlyweds in a week and a day and already drive me nuts with all the wedding blah blah blah).  Thoreau says at the beginning (ish) of Walden, "At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house," and when I read that for the first time a week ago I almost went "YES!" aloud.  I see every bit of land as a possible place that could be MINE, where I can have my cat and have my boyfriend and choose my own furniture and my own temperature and keep things clean and nice-smelling, where I can arrange my books attractively on my thrift-store shelves and put the mirror my Aunt made me above my little white desk to create a vanity, where I can keep my bathroom stuff IN THE BATHROOM and put the cat's litterbox somewhere away from where I hang out...*takes deep breath*...and where I can practice my violin without worrying about any roommate but J, who would probably play along with me, where I can have a corner for my easel and a corner for my comfy reading chair, where I can have my dishes without having to dig them out from under hundreds of my roommate's dishes, and where I can keep the table clear enough to have tea at in the afternoon when I get home from campus. 

Mostly, I can handle not being in control.  I'll admit that I'm generally a passive person.  When it comes to my space (or, next year, my classroom), however, I must have it my way, or I'll be unhappy.  I love your little house because it's so yours.  It suits the life you lead--what would you do with more rooms?  Why have cable if you're not into watching the crappy shows that are on it? (By the way, I'm considering living without cable next year, not only to save money but to keep myself from shows like "Real Housewives of Atlanta").  J just barely understands my discomfort, and my roommate doesn't understand it at all.  

My mom, on the other hand, understands perfectly just like she understands that I'm accommodating to a fault.  She's watched me nest my entire life--I used to bring photos of my family and my cat on trips and tape them up around wherever I slept.  Now, my only options of places to stay are: 1) an apartment overrun by my roommate's and her fiance's stuff where I feel uncomfortable watching the tv since it--and all the furniture--isn't mine and the couple is way more into their shows than I am, or 2) an apartment where I don't pay rent but where I'm allowed to nest and keep my clothes and books and pictures in J's room, where (until now) I could hang out with our cat, but where I feel guilty cooking or showering or existing and where there's a roommate so finicky about cleanliness that he cracked a window (it was 20 degrees outside) and left a cup of ammonia on the stove after J and I made popcorn the other day.

I'm so frustrated!  I need a place to call home.  

I can tie this into our discussion of technology, as well: just as each person (generally) has a physical space in which they feel comfortable and which needs to be respected, each person has a technological space in which they are comfortable and which needs to be respected.  I plan on extending mine to my classroom, since I consider that my space.  Once the students are out of my space, they can text while browsing the internet and listening to clangy music on their iDoEverythingButBrushYourTeeth[ThoughThat'sInDevelopment].  

I apologize for being so long-winded.  Repression isn't good for me, but I've had to become good at it to keep the various roommates happy.  2 months til freedom!

Prioritizing Passion

Dear Kate,

I love the memory given by your mother in her letter. Here was her daughter, wanting a walk, but content to fend herself. Consequently, mom reevaluates the importance of her choice in this situation, and decides instead to spend good quality time with her daughter. So often in our society we miss this quality time…Look at your closest relationships now. You, like me, are content in solitude, but appreciate good quality time spent with those dearest to our hearts (though the actual number within that intimate circle only requires the use of one hand to count).

Just now I sit writing you, alone in my home, content with the music in the background and the snoring of the herd. I had spent some needed time reading a great book, a gift from the capt. costing him only a quarter. Soon I will be leaving for a drive over to my brothers, and though capt has had a long rough day, he has chosen to ride with me the hour’s distance to Destin. I have to go regardless and would have gone alone, but he who had the choice decided going along for the ride mattered. And I love him a little more for that decision. Now this obligatory ride will become one of good quality time spent with a wonderful companion…a nice break from the monotony of obligations.

Alluding to your letter though, these sacrificial decisions must be balanced on either side of any relationship for bonds to hold. It sounds like your friend in Atlanta demands all from you with little to return. I do not wish to make assumptions, but I do often find myself constantly in the shoes which cause me to bend backwards to others. And slowly it results in great weariness. I find I often have to take a step back and let the plate fall. If it doesn’t break, I’ll eventually return it to its place. (Luckily the doc’s plate shattered, and I am a happier person for it!) So I pray for the sake of your relationship with Atlanta – I pray she assists in keeping the plate of your friendship spinning, so you alone are not drawn to weariness, risking the break of a special relationship.

Now to shift topics –

I finished a book New Songs in an Old Café by Robert James Waller. It is a collection of essays written mostly for the Des Moines Register. I bring this up because I felt his essays were filled with such passion! This passion emitting from his pages led me into deeper thoughts. One essay, which actually is a commencement speech, deals with the topic of Romance. And I get it. I felt it did a fairly good job describing my lifestyle: open to the joys of life, in whatever form they may mold – music, nature, solitude, poetry. Like I said – I get it. When not bogged down by family strains, I embrace those joys of life: the dawn of a new day, the colors of a sunset, the uncertain adventures taken in life, the tune of a strummed or hammered dulcimer, the acceptance of dogs unconditional love. It is all beautiful.

But I do tend to lack passion. This passion is not directly spoken to by Waller, but you can feel it in his works. I discussed this with a friend over lunch, and friends idea was practice…the more you write, the more passion becomes apparent. I agree with this, but I just feel there is something more. I once learned at a soccer camp that practice made permanent. If I continue to write with lifeless allure, then my future writings will continue to embrace nothing. I think, obviously, we need to write about topics of which we devote a great deal of care, and to immerse yourself into that about which you do care. Learn it, live it, feel it, understand it. This way you can accurately defend your position with not just scholarly knowledge, but experience. This passion draws you towards certain books, events, adventures, lectures. And when you write about said experiences, your words flow from your mind faster than your fingers can write. There is such energy emitting from your pencil, others feel rather than read your writings. Back to the Waller example, his essays may not have dealt directly with things which interest me, but I felt emotion boil up inside as I experienced his words.

So, my question…where is my passion? (rhetorically speaking) Where are the emotional ribbons I need to weave through my words? What do I care so much about that I am leaving feelings rather than ink? I like many things, sure: natural freedom, local produce, French lifestyles, panting dogs, irresistible food, sensational grace. Yet I feel I lack that extra oomph to passion. I’m not upset over this, just in awe. I pray perhaps this realization will spark a desire to deepen my knowledge in said areas, so I too can write with the emotional conviction seen in so many writers (Kingsolver, Lamott, Bryson, Quinn).

Paix, ma cousine,

Leigh

Spinning Plates

Dear Leigh,

I love your plate-spinning metaphor.  Reminds me of a Radiohead song...I'll come back to it.

For now, I have to focus on the strange tension between wanting to be left alone and not wanting to be alone at all.  I can't really expound on being happy flying solo, because (though I found plenty to do with my time that I don't do so much now) I wasn't happy on my own from the day I understood that each person is supposed to have somebody.  Even in first grade I pined over some boy or other.  It's acculturation.  Occasionally over the years I've hit points where I felt content on my own and proud of what I did with my time, but always I returned to a place where I felt bitter toward people yet ultimately wanted to be a part of the successful heterosexual partnered group.  I never could help myself, and I recognized that as a weakness of sorts.

Back to the spinning plates.  My parents were supposed to come visit this weekend, but, due to weather, have canceled the camping trip whose return route would lead them directly past Blacksburg.  It's rescheduled for two weeks from Sunday, when my friend Laura has planned for me to go visit her in Atlanta.  Part of me looks on this rescheduling as a blessing, because it's one more reason for me not to go see my friend.

I'll explain.  In August, she and I tried to plan a time that we could see each other.  Fall break seemed like a good time, so I said all right, if I have enough money.  The thing is, I don't have enough money.  And my tires are balding.  And a week ago my car wouldn't start, opening my eyes to the catastrophe that breaking down on the road would be.  And, because of Jeremiah, I'm suddenly more concerned about my own mortality.  And I don't like talking to Laura much anymore... Yet, in spite of several good reasons to not embark on a 6 1/2 hour drive to Atlanta, I can't bring myself to tell Laura I'm just not going.  The dynamic of our relationship has always been "do what Laura wants."  Which was fine, since I'm a generally passive and eager-to-please kind of person.

So I feel guilty that I don't want to go on this trip, because it will put me further into a debt I've finally started to repay, because my vehicle is aging quickly, because I honestly can't afford to spend the time away from my desk.  I feel guilty that part of me is glad my parents rescheduled for the 12th.  I feel guilty that I've changed so much that when Laura talks about how one of her goals is to be making six figures in X years I feel disdainful, which isn't fair...

All of this reminds me of a letter my mom wrote to me when I was six to be delivered when I turned 17 (we lost it; she found it again this year).  In it, she tells the story of a day when she was cleaning the house.  I'd asked a few times recently to take a walk on the trail in the neighborhood park, but she kept saying "later."  Then, she said, while watching me play quietly on my own as she cleaned, she realized she had her priorities all wrong.  She asked if I'd like to go for a walk, and, she says, my eyes lit up.  We walked, and she listened and enjoyed my six year-old's excitement as I chattered about everything I saw along the way.  Her advice, based on this and my continual deference to my brother's wishes, was to not be afraid to do what I want now and then.  It's good to want to make other people happy and to go along with their plans, but sometimes it's also good to have your own or to say no to an idea that you don't like that much.

It's the best letter I've gotten and reveals a tendency we have in our family to not want to inconvenience anybody, to the extent that we'll be visiting in the same town and not call to say hi, because we worry we'll just bother or interrupt (my brother, aunt Brenda, and Uncle Michael were all in Blacksburg a few weeks ago...I found out halfway through the weekend in which they visited...never got a call.  My response: to also not call and risk bothering them).

So, right now, Laura is the plate that is slipping.  I think, however, that it may be okay to let that one fall this time.  I want to see my parents; I haven't for more than an hour or so in months.  Seeing her that weekend would also mean not seeing them until...Thanksgiving?

I hope you're doing well.  Life seems to get stressful this time of year.

Love,

Kate

Side Show in the Circus

Dear Kate,

It is interesting, this thought of independence. I was mulling on it more this morning, and many of the thoughts I hatched were alluded to in your letter. I have been slow in my response, still allowing some time to heal old wounds. But I feel on the fast track back to my ol’ self, regaining some of my tough outer skin, disallowing silly remarks to stab deeper than the speaker intended. Though there are still times when I just want to curl up and cry. For example, just Tuesday some walker with her stupid perfect dog walking leash-less by her side made a comment about my herd walking. Molly went slightly ballistic in her own puppy way at the sight of this other dog, causing my other two to pull each way, trying to determine the cause of an ADD puppy’s excitement. I thought I handled my herd fine, for one who is out weighed and out muscled by the combined hounds. Individually, they are wonderful, fairly well behaved dogs…with Molly’s puppy-ness exception. But together, they feed off each other’s excitement and curiosity. It is tough, but we do well.

But then there are the days I want to shoot them to the moon.

Independence is a funny thing. I am reading the book Into the Wild about a boy going into the Alaskan wilderness to live alone for a while. The deepest form of independence, if you ask me. I sometimes think that is where I would like to be, living in pure solitude with no human contact. However, I believe it would have to be more or less a temporary fix, just a short time sans human contact to defrag from the demands of society… the same as those you highlighted in your letter. Yet I know I will never be truly free of the demands of my kids, my friends, my family, my dogs. So, I do try to find “me-mo’s”: me moments of quiet solitude to ease a troubled soul, tensions pulled tight by social demands, my thin bands of sanity unraveling. Sadly, it is not quite so poetic as a Walt Whitman journal entry, but my quite times are the best I can supply in my current situation.

Basically life is nothing but plate spinning. You sit on stage, spinning a plate on a post. Yet the crowds did not come to see you balance one plate, so you start the next saucer a spinning, then the next, then the next. How many plates can you get moving before the first one falters and you find yourself unable to rush back to keep it balanced. Our social demands are like this. Mom and dad want a visit, brother wants a party, friends want a sponge, kids want a lock-in, dogs want a walk, boyfriends want attention, ex wants a reunion, the self just wants a vacation.

We are never truly independent. There will always be a demand from someone lurking in the shadows. But I think this independence can be healthily embraced if we can find, or demand a compromise from other parties. One of my college youth made a great comment the other day: She is happy when she is single, and happier when dating someone who is compatible. Obvious remark. But the first line is where we falter. Being happy solo. I have been there. Unhealthy relationships have caused me to lose some of this independent confidence. I tend to a personality which would gladly give all and then some for those around me, and often it is to the determent of my own happiness. But I am again feeling stronger these days, and more ready to take on the world, demanding more compromise from friends, work, and dogs. You and I tend to be the same in this, we let others tramp over our strive towards independence. We have to learn to butt in on those conversations to give our own related grievances, to demand the family make the drive for a visit, or, as you have done (kudos to you)…detach from the phone for moments of uninterrupted silence. “Just say no” is not only a slogan for drug use. Independence is not just about being solo, it is about forming healthy relationships, where we can be happy in our solitude, and happier still in our balanced relationships.

Just so long as no one makes a snide comment on the erratic behavior of my puppy…Molly’s an idiot, I know this, but she’s a cute idiot!!

Vivre en Paix

Leigh

Be Afraid, be Very Afraid

Dear Kate,

It’s interesting how swiftly and busily a summer can go… for you and me. For me, summer’s are filled with work and trips and overnight events which leave me either away from a computer or simply not in a desire to keep up with the blogging network.

But my summers have been filled with youth trips and stress and dogs! So tonight I write you in a sense of a continuation to our last posting… the interesting issues of family dynamics and in the new ideas relating to the summer of the “traveling pant-suit.”

The doc and I are no longer together for reasons I’d rather not digest over this blog. So I am again free to my independence. However, my self-sufficiency is only a coveted situation on some aspects, like those revolving around not having to deal with other's drama. Or, when my house is a mess, it is the fault of my own hand and the twelve paws of the dogs which are my children. Yet, financially, I hurt, and emotionally, I am alone. Often, I fear the later one more than the former.

And that brings me to my complaints, though I wish not to make this sharing of ideas a column for the pity party of one, staring me. I hope that what I stress in this, our first letter after a summer hiatus, be a note of understanding behind my own traveling pant-suit of one.

One of my final trips was a personal trip to St. Louis. This trip was a supposed vacation involving only the four in my family, my brother and I, my mom and dad. All went well, though I was expected to, and gladly accepted to, act the responsible one during my brother’s shenanigans. We would go out each night, despite my weariness, and stay till the crack of dawn. My brother would party hardy with long lost friends, and I would sip beer, and enjoy the occasional conversation from mutual friendships…gained through my days as designated “get the boy home safe” driver. Our first night we arrived home at 4:30 in the a.m. with parents grumbling- to be expected. I would have rather walked in with enough time to rest and get a good sleep before awaking in the early hours to spend a supposedly event filled day with the folks. Plans had been made, and sadly adjusted to compensate for my brothers hangover. I think, and perhaps am wrong in believing so, that my parents would have been more disappointed had that been me needing the day’s recovery in the dark and cold basement. But the next night, the parental unit stayed out until the wee hours, needing the last full day of our trip for some recovery. Interesting how that works.

And don’t get me started on my feelings after I actually made it to “mass” with the parents: yes me, the “pagan” youth director… I wondered silently as my parents filed up for Eucharist, if they would have been more upset had I partaken, or if they were upset because I had made the decision not to follow their ritual… I really don't know why when I go to my parents, my "pant-suit" is stripped away and replaced with toddler pants. Like my responsible pushing thrity being is really an irresponsible pushing twenty aura.

Now the scary part, the part where I do often feel more like a Hilary, than a simple me. I’ll clarify quickly by saying, though I admire Hilary Clinton for her ideas, I shudder at her ability to stand up to opposing crowds and male-full jeers as she empowers the female race. I am not as stand up as she, though I do act in opposition to the female being viewed as the “weaker sex.”

Tonight I sat up at my bar with “Matt,” “Em,” and “Ray.” Em and Ray are married and in a sense help out Matt when needed. Matt is a great friend of mine, and has helped me in as many tough times as I hope to have helped him. There we sat, discussing this impending storm, and I hear a bartender friend offer his home, should Matt need a place to run. This bothered me to no question, and I haven’t a straight answer as to why? My home too is in a flood zone. Should a storm come this direction, I too have to leave. I am alone. I have three dogs and a cat. And though I know my “children” are part of the reason I have not had the sincere offers of evacuation sanctuary, I also somehow think I put off a beacon of such independence that friends either think I have someone to take care of me, or they think I am already taking care of myself.

I don’t know. The point of this letter revolves around a thought of the independent female. Do we put off such a light that others are afraid to offer comfort to us when we are in times of need, or do we put off a sense that we are already taken care of? In other thoughts, do we act as if we are repulsed by the idea of another’s offering of a helping hand?

I myself admit that I cannot live life alone. I also admit that I am so damn independent that I tend to fail at relationships. But in times of crisis, I still need a friend. I still need help, just as my MALE friend Matt at the bar.

Much love, but please, don’t mistake my words for bitterness…

Ta Cousine,
Leigh

Disappointment

Dear Kate,

I chose not to call my dad on father’s day. Not until late evening. Feelings of guilt hit home following two text messages from my dad and a phone call from each parent. I finally called, gave cordial father’s day blessings, then went on my way.

The fact is, I still feel terribly battered from my week. And I do not yet see remedy in sight. I do not feel like a pushing 30 around the family, rather, I feel reduced to an inexperienced teenager. And it still pains me to the point of belligerent cursing to think and realize and experience the way my father puts my brother on such a *&#$*% silver platter. J commented that perhaps my dad expects “more” from me?! What more can I offer? I thought I was relatively successful. Happy, strong, educated. Yet, that one particular evening, I am being yelled at by both parents to “go to bed, this is not the party house, you have until 10:30.” (dost I hear tones of a curfew??!!??) Enter…Michael and the song runs over a key change: “You guys can hang out, just keep it quiet.” The little shit.

I don’t understand why my behavior (drinking?) is suddenly an issue. I do not drink to the level of both my brother AND my dad. I am somehow always caught with a beverage in hand, yet often it is the same beverage I was "caught" holding the hour before...I am a slow drinker (ask John, he joked me about it!!). Yet, I recall the "boy Welch who can do no wrong" being idiotically drunk, sitting in the driveway in a dazed stupor Wednesday night - big sister literally dragging him to bed and forcing water down his throat. Then there was my own dad’s embarrassingly boisterous behavior during dinner the following evening. And while I proudly wear the "Family Drunk" hat, still my guitar gently weeps. I felt, and still feel, like such a failure.

Then there is the doc: an impulsive light weight, who has been through much trauma in his life. He is on medication. Unfortunately, he chose not to take his medication during the week…and I suffered for his anxiety prone, obsessive compulsive, manic behavior. I killed me to see the looks and snickers occurring behind his back. It killed me to see the loss of respect in my parent’s eyes.

I feel stifled by my family; in a complete place of chaos with the doc; in a heavy strain of loss. Perhaps I expect too much from my family. Surely my own unit of four can do nothing better than fight and bicker and turn backs. I do not feel the bonds of support and encouragement. And it is not all because of the doc. It is in conjunction with my cooking, with my writing, with my music…not all great, but rather than supported, it is waved off like a seven year old's stick figure doodle.

Enough.

To your letter: you and J have a very special relationship, much different that your relationship with your dad. Your dad is proud of you. You know it very well. I don’t believe for one minute that he is hurt or offended that it took J to widen your eyes to the amazing array of joys and talents you share with your family. The fact is, you already knew of the hobbies and talents shared within your family circle (thanks to the COMBINED efforts of your parents). Often it does take an outside force to help expand and strengthen that interest. It also makes those joys more unique to you and J. Do you think for one minute that grandpa and grandma were disappointed with your mother for not following exactly to their likes? Rather, combined with your dad, those joys and interests were expanded and crafted to the new little family unit your mom was creating.

So there you are. You dad is amazing. You are amazing. You have an amazing partner. Together you can discover music and art in new and exciting ways you may have never known if left to your own devices.
I hope this helps, though somehow I don't feel like I adequately answered your letter.

Peace,
Leigh

PS
The car ride home was surprisingly comfortable. I was able to sleep most the way….it really is amazing the amount of room in that car. I was content in the back, with my herd of children, lost in thought over the revelations and disappointments of the week.

I envy what you have with your family. I suppose the grass is always greener...

Sheepish because of her tardy response, yet eager to share...

Dear Leigh,

I'm sorry that it's been two posts since a response from me.  Between graduating, visiting home, and giving my friend Laura the time with me that she deserves, I haven't been too close to my computer too often.

I can relate to the feeling of sort of...not being allowed to enjoy happiness newly found.  For the first couple months with J, I thought the whole world was golden, turning just to make us happy.  It certainly seemed that way, and everyone around us seemed to be just as happy with our relationship as we were.  Once I started hearing complaints, however, our joy felt tainted...

It hurts to feel as though others don't see something that makes you happy as the wonderful thing that you know it is.   It's hard to be more discreet with a relationship that just seems to fit and makes you want to announce to everyone how happy you are, and it's definitely difficult to move forward when former relationships (or non-relationships, as in my case), insist on stepping on the back of your shoes.

I've decided that, in time, my friends will come to appreciate this contentment I've found with another after so many unfortunate others and realize that, if maybe they don't see me as much or see me as much by myself, it's worth it because of how happy I am.  This is kind of a selfish line of thinking, on my part, but I like to believe that, if something came along that gave one of my close friends great joy at the cost of spending some time with me, I'd be able to welcome that thing (whether it's a person or job or hobby) because of its value to my friend.

My point in all of that talking about me is to come back to you and say that once the kids are used to the idea of you and your doctor and once your employer sees that the relationship is not something casual or sinful but something that brings you joy, they'll calm down and you can openly enjoy the happiness you deserve.  As for the marine...that's a wrench that will undoubtedly be difficult to handle, but time is an amazing healer...

Looking forward to the beach, we can both take comfort in the fact that we have a great family that seems to be only happy if we've found something or someone that makes us happy.  My parents think J is great, and you said your parents and brother like your doctor.  I can't help but feel that they'll integrate well with the rest of the family, and that there you can relax and just enjoy sharing the doctor with everyone, away from rumors and suggested discretion.

Much love and compassion...

Sincerely,

Kate

Rain on my Parade

Dear Kate

I am extremely frustrated. I wrote recently about the joy in my life and how it can completely deter inspiration for writing. It feels now, in a sense, kind of a joke because here I sit, upset and frustrated, feeling almost hypocritical to my own thoughts posted just days ago.

I returned from a great respite trip to the mountains. The Smokie’s which surround Ashville have such an intoxicating, contagious tranquility, soothing my anxious spirit. I returned home to an amazing embrace from a wonderful man; home to tails wagging so ferociously that butt’s were hardly able to contain the unbound joy of a “herd” welcoming me home. Smiles radiated from all direction. I never felt so good coming home.

Then, a few days pass…barely. I feel I’ve been home much longer than the few actual days. Last night I was awake, feeling wretched, sleep not willing to join me on the couch, instead misery keeping company. It sucked.

Imagine the face of a child, pure in elation over the extravagant mud pie he lovingly made for his mother, only to have that joy obliterated because mom cannot see past the mud stains on clean trousers? This is certainly hypothetical, but really, that is how I feel suddenly. Like here I am, full of joy from my return, only to have the reality of life smite me like a judge criticizing a piece one has worked hard preparing and performing.

The kids continue their ugly gossip and rumor spreading. When they speak of other youth, their words are poison, their nonchalant attitude breaking my heart. And some still rumble about my new relationship…I ran into a kid while the doc and I were grocery shopping, and have now been told by the “boss” to be “discreet” with my relationship. Um. Since when was grocery shopping a sign that I am living a life of “sin”? That’s it I suppose, no more public outings. Then of course, there is the marine. It kills me the anger in his spirit. Yet I am certainly not strong enough to stay away from him. I hurt for his hurt.

I guess am that sensitive.
Why must there be so much pain, sadness, anger, hostility, vengeance and misery in the world? Then the news opens with reports of China and Burma. It kills me, it really does. Cuz, last night I sat on my couch at two in the morning with tears rolling down my face. I believe it hurts more when your spirit wants to shine out joy, but the world, both close at hand, and oceans away, insists on smudging out that glow with gloom.
It really kills me.

What to do, what to do...

Dear Leigh,

Once again, you're right.  I can't really judge, and better to keep checking in on him than to give up trying in a fit of passive-aggressiveness.  That helps nobody, and, besides, maybe one day soon we'll just start talking like you and Mike did.  One can only hope.

In that vein, a siblings outing at the beach is a good idea.  We can do some cousinly bonding and leave the significant others with the family (which actually doesn't make me at all nervous).  

Random:  So I'm writing this story based on the stories my dad likes to tell about his childhood.  His family lived in Laos and Iran, so there are some interesting settings and situations.  My issue is this:  Since they're stories based on my dad's life, should I be writing them? Shouldn't he be writing them?  My answer to myself is that I'm writing them for  him, but that's not entirely true...because if that were the case, I'd be trying to keep them consistent with the details he gave. Instead, I've taken the situations and some characters and completely fabricated the way things pan out.  It wouldn't be much of an issue except that I need some information about where he lived in Laos and what the socio-economic climate was like at the time.  I'll have to call and explain the premise of my story...I'm worried that a) he'll be annoyed or that b) he'll want me to change what I've written so that it matches exactly what really happened.  Neither would make me happy.

I could just work on a different story, but I've never had so much fun with one as I'm having with this adaptation of episodes from my dad's life...

Oh well.

Sincerely,

Kate