| Current mood: |  cranky |
| Current music: | "leaving on a jet plane" ...but only in my head |
I'll be brief. :)
Long ago, there was a very unhappy marriage between two very unhappy people. As have so many, this particular one resulted from an unplanned pregnancy, and it was probably a direct and indirect cause of a lot of unhappiness for a lot of people. The unsmiling couple? My maternal grandparents!
Should anyone still require filling in, here's how the story played out. She was 18. He was about 5 years older. He claimed sterility. She was naive enough to believe him. A marriage was forced. Both held jobs. When she returned from hers, she promptly handed the paycheck over to him. She was a child when they married. He didn't much like the adult she would grow into.
Eventually, he would find someone for whom he apparently had genuine affection. After seventeen years, that was the welcome marriage breaker. Their three daughters moved with her back to her childhood home in Indiana. A few cards and letters and one long-distance call, they drifted away like the leaves in the fall. ...
A few decades later (also known as 'last Saturday'), Mr. Sterility reentered 'the picture'. I, a byproduct of his loveless copulation, was one of many to attend the reunion. One who didn't attend was my maternal grandmother, his former wife, the woman who raised me, who I call "Mom".
She provided my transportation back to Bloomington today. She cried part of the way here. In the last three days, two people had separately remarked that she could have been 'somebody'. ...just as the reason she believes she wasn't hopped back into her daughters' lives.
Then she got mean. ... brutally mean. It was my turn to cry.
As everyone now knows, the weekend's event isn't an unusual one for me this year. It's been a whole four months since my reunion with my formerly estranged father. That hasn't resulted in a great deal of happiness for me either.
He and and his wife request phone calls. I give them. They say I don't call enough. They request cards. I send them. They tell me how disappointed they are that I didn't include pictures. I send email. They tell me how much they would prefer more phone calls instead. I send cards to their relatives. In a disheartened tone, they remind me exactly who provided the seed from which I sprung. I buy them a gift (in this case, a framed photo)... not so much as a warm 'thank you'.
Why am I bothered? I don't know. I have a really bothersome guilt complex. I'm going to get over it this time. ...but until that happens, care to listen?
I'm not the only child who sprung from my father's seed. There was a boy child too (who incidentally has told the father how guilted I feel--it was interpreted as an accusation, a nature in which it was not intended). Like me, he was ignored by the planter for about sixteen years. That doesn't bother either of us in the least. Totally cool.
Here's the thing. As I worked hard to make two people a little happier, the boy child sent nothing, said nothing.... just nothing. Until he desired money for more sexy name brand clothing and a sparkling new cell phone plan. He hasn't had a brilliant life, and I have an understanding of why he does what he does. ....but he's now having money and gifts thrown at him from every direction I can see. ...the maternal family, the paternal family.... mulitple relatives on each side...even from me. Persistence really can pay. ... and reasons why my brother's use of such knowledge irks me follow:
1. These people are poor and often sick, particularly "Mom". He doesn't care. ... and he won't consider caring. I find that frustrating.
2. I try sooo hard to help in sooo many ways. Perhaps not everyone all of the time. ...but everyone apparent who seems in need any time it's brought to my attention. I don't want to want recognition. ...but sometimes, it seems I get the opposite. The more I give, the more it's noticed when I accidentally don't. Sometimes, I really do wish someone would notice that the reason I'm expected to give is because I started giving in the first place. ... that I'm a nice person. ...not the kid who hasn't done *everything* she could possibly without having a breakdown. No one does all s/he can. Were I not human, I'd make a stab at it... but I'm not quite ready to self-induce emotional collapse just yet. :D ...or you know... to work hard or whatever it is that most people do. :):):)
3. I just sold books for a meager $60. I promptly handed it over to Mom, who promptly tried to hand it back to me. ...and then I left the room as she hollered an assortment things that made me feel bad. I'm going to spend the rest of the semester eating nothing but rice and pasta. Who will notice? Not the homefolks. Why not? I don't want them to give me money. Why am I frustrated? I'm a crappy person. Why does that bother me? Perhaps I'm not entirely crappy. ... but, you know, who is?
Anyway... I'm back in Bloomington, as you might have guessed. :) Mom departed grumpy and left me feeling like the largest piece of poo on the planet, just for having been born (which, by the way, was not my idea). Something about my computer doesn't work. I don't know why. I could probably figure it out, but I don't care enough just yet. I'm sure I'll welcome telephonic company tonight--it's been a rarity in the last few months. You know the number(s).
...but I did finally receive the Greek God Pan cassette from my elementary school music teacher! I totally remembered her handwriting! Such a fine example of perfect denelian! I'll give the tape a listen as soon as I leave the lab. I have papers to write, but I'll probably read instead.... out of convenience more than any other reason. I'll throw something together last minute. Everything'll be okay. Somebody make out with me, please. :):):)
...and in case there's any doubt, I don't really think my life's so unpleasant. I'm sure there are worse. ... and probably happier people living them. I also don't think myself 'worse (by whatever definition)' than others (though I don't hold others to any designated standards as I do myself). I'm just not quite perfect enough to be above dissatisfaction. :):):)
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