July 12, 2003
One More Day
I don't understand why this has to be so difficult. I don't understand how my father has morphed from a man to a leech, equipped with temper and righteousness. I don't understand how my mother has changed faces from one I recognize to one I wouldn't give the time to on the street. And I'd give the time to almost anyone.
I don't understand this guilt. I don't understand this selfless selfishness. Who am I working for? Where's my motivation, and why, with all this pseudo-reality television drama, am I not even warranted the nosy camera in my face? There are no noses in my face, not even ones conveniently close when kissing. He looked at me with something like resignment in his eyes, as though he would rather have pulled into an empty driveway, and who could blame him. His ear still hurts. Why should I hang about and make his head ache, as well?
I can't rely on anyone. I can't rely on my dad, who has his own reasons for being involved, and his own desirous outcome. I can't rely on any of my family, who'd rather I wasn't involved at all. I can't rely on Mike, due to my fear that if I rely too heavily, this madness will drive something between us.
I can't rely on me, who just wants peace and quiet and love and a Sunday morning in bed. But I have a birthday party to go to tomorrow, just a few houses down from where she's living, without a car, without a phone, with an alcoholic, unemployed boyfriend who still manages to buy her as many cigarettes as she could ever want to smoke.
It's that little act that drives me mad. The fact that the first thing she does when she gets up is light a cigarette. Like a fucking addict.
And she is.
I'm addicted to, though this current turn of events is killing all my passions in general.
I'd hold him. Why can't he just hold me?
astera at 10:39 p.m.