I think I've known for a very long time that my mother didn't love me, and I'm not saying that in the hopes of making excuses for my past behaviors and my shortcomings now, I'm saying it because I believe it to be true. Growing up I was all but invisible, if I wasn't serving some purpose, be it babysitter or confidant. Once when I was around 9 or 10 I decided to run away from home. My grand plan was to live under the bleachers at the ballpark across the street from our house. I wrote a note to my mother telling her that now she could have her three perfect boys all to herself, that now I would be out of the way. I wasn't gone very long, it was cold and dark outside, and when I got back I thought she'd be so relieved to see me, so happy. But nothing. I don't know if she even realized I was gone.
When I was in the 8th grade I had my first boyfriend. We ended up dating for the better part of the next four years, until he moved away to Florida. He and I had sex in the spring of our Freshman year. The next winter I got pregnant. I was one of those stupid kids who thought things like that happened to other people, certainly not to me. On the day I came clean to my mother I had already decided that I couldn't continue the pregnancy, in my mind there was no other option. 15 and pregnant was not how I had pictured myself, and I knew I had to take care of it so that I could go on with my life pretending that it had never happened. I begged my mother not to tell my father, I knew that he would be beyond furious. In looking back I understand that she had to tell him, that he had a right to know. When I was called down from my room to the kitched table that day I kind of got a glimpse into how a convicted murdered on death row must feel as he's led to the electric chair. I knew it would be bad, I just wasn't prepared for how bad it would be. For the next two hours my father proceeded to tell me what a pig I was, how I was no better than the slut next door, how not having the baby was murder, how wrong it was. Over and over I cried that I was sorry, that I never meant for it to happen, but nothing I said made a difference, he just told me to shut up. My mother just sat there the whole time, watching me cry, listening to me beg him to stop. She did nothing. She said nothing.
The was the very beginning of our end. My father and I were able to put that day behind us, but it took a long time. But I could never forget how she just sat there, saying nothing, doing nothing. Over the years the betrayals added up, until finally something so irreversible happened that there was nowhere else for us to go. The could be no moving forward, no forgiving and forgetting. Despite all this I miss her every day. I crave having the mom's people have on TV. A mom is supposed to be there to celebrate her children's triumphs, encourage them after a misstep. Not having that influence in my life has colored so many things a dismal shade of gray. I hate her and love her all at once, but the thought of having her in my life terrifies me. I can't move on, but I can't go back. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to feel better.
I'm tired. I feel the first vestiges of a cold coming on now that the weather is changing. I'm worried. The ex still doesn't have a job, and I have to take a loan out against my 401K so that I can pay his rent. I don't care about the money, not really anyway, it's more the uncertainty about the future. It's human nature to do the whole "well, if I were you..." thing, but in this situation it really does apply. I want so badly to say to him:
If I were you I'd appreciate the fact that I got to spend every day this summer at home with the kids.
If I were you I'd appreciate the fact that they worship the ground you walk on.
If I were you I'd drink less, and live more.
If I were you I'd want my children to come home to a clean house they can be proud of, instead of a dreadful mess.
If I were you I'd focus more on the positve, instead of everything that's wrong.
If I were you I'd treasure the friendship that we have, instead of mourning the marriage that we lost.
If I were you I would have tried harder to save us.
If I were you I would have noticed when the person I was in love with was lost and unhappy.
If I were you I'd call my parents more.
If I were you I'd reconnect with old friends who love and miss you.
If I were you I'd join an online dating site and see what happens.
If I were you I'd stop making excuses for my shortcomings.
If I were you I'd smoke less pot, and breathe more air.
If I were you I'd care more, and brood less.
Sadly though, I'm not you. Any saying these things out loud will only produce a defensive reaction, an assumption of what kind of person and father I think you are, neither of which will be true. I'll end up apologizing for my words, and meaning that apology, even though I have nothing to be sorry for. The time spent waiting for things to get better never seems to end, and I'm constantly worried about the future, there's so much I can't change, can't control.
I'm so tired.
So where am I going with this? Honestly I'm not sure. But I do know that as the years have passed I've changed, grown up, realigned my priorities, and I don't want to be around people who haven't grown up, whose priorities are so drastically different from mine. This post seems to be a lot of words about nothing, and even though there are a lot of words, I still don't feel like I got out what I needed to. Maybe I'll try again later.
I think in part it could be attributed to how under-appreciated I feel lately. Always running around, helping out other people, with close to nothing left over for myself. As a result I'm tired and short tempered, prone to bouts of severe oversensitivity. Things are just insane, I'm completely overwhelmed. It'll pass.
So the plot is as follows: overweight process server (Seth Rogen) who is dating a high schooler buys some one of a kind weed from his dealer (James Franco)and then witnesses a murder while sitting outside the home of one of his supoena recipients (who just so happens to be his drug dealers supplier-Lumberg from office space aka Gary Cole) The murderers are a female cop (Rosie Perez. No really. Yeah, I thought she was dead too). He tosses his half smoked joint on the ground and takes off, but not until he smashes into the car of the policewoman and another parked car. So the drug supplier finds the half smoked joint, knows what it is, knows that he's the only one supplying it and the only person he's supplied it to is James Franco. So basically Seth Rogen and James Franco spend the whole rest of the movie running away from Lumberg. The can't stay at James Franco's place, and everywhere else they go Lumberg seems to find them. So my problem is this-before all of the running around started why didn't James Franco and Seth Rogen just go to Seth Rogen's place and hide out there? Lumberg didn't know his name or what he really looked like, and he would have had no way of knowing that Seth Rogen was the only person that James Franco sold the Pineapple Express to. Yes, I know that there would be no movie otherwise, but it was just so glaringly obvious. I realize that me making this connection is along the lines of what those hard ass guys do when they watch action movies and say things like "yeah, that gun is a (insert bad ass gun name here) and it only holds six rounds and that guys just shot off 12. There's no way that guy had time to reload that fast".
For the last couple of years numerous people have told me that I HAVE to watch Oz (on HBO), because it's such a good show, it's so real (none of the people telling me to watch have ever been to prison so I'm not sure how they knew it was "real"), blah, blah, blah... So last night I happened to catch an episode. I didn't plan to watch, the TV was just on, and I didn't bother to change the channel.
The show absolutely sucked. Completely. The acting was horrible, the script was even worse. Despite being chock full of recognizable faces- The Fuck Buddy from Sex and the City, Mr. Echo from Lost, Michael from Lost, the dad from Save the Last Dance, and some dude who I'm pretty sure was on The Soprano's, not once did I actually think to myself, "hey, I think I'll watch this again!". In a way I was actually relieved because I've been missing absolutely nothing by not taking time out of my life to watch this show. And furthermore, taking time to watch Oz would have meant less time to watch Enchanted, repeatedly.