December 5, 2003
Out of Form
Nothing seems to be in its right form.
One of the ugliest parts of growing older is that everyone else does it too. Some days I want to grow up and leave some people behind, but what is appalling is how people are starting to break or sprain or be malignant instead of benign.
I do not know where to start so I will start on the mantle, why not go for the area of exaltation first? The seemingly strong and prominent are always easier.
Last year Christian gave me a cute m & m jukebox that deposits m & m's. I cannot pretend that I never was calorie conscious, but I feel slightly more conscious of my eating habits than usual. Fortunately I never had an eating disorder, but I have a morbid curiousity in the subject matter and in many respects I fit the profile for someone with anorexia. Understatement is usually a better method for me, but I am too tired to be coy.
There is also a picture I took of our plastic santa from behind, with his arm in a salute while he stands on the balcony and looks into bare trees and a bright blue sky. His cord is slightly visible. I love the picture, though I cannot disern if it is any good or not. Honestly it does not matter, I never ask for anyone else to appreciate it. In trying to be some kind of Olympiad, I have lost some of my creative spirit. It can be revived, but right now it is dormant. I do not even like painting wrapping paper for people anymore; gift giving is more like a chore this year than it has been any other year.
It is ugly.
Next to the mantle is the place we keep our DVDs. Within our collection is a DVD of the memorial service of my old neighbor/older brother figure, Jay. I could not make the service because I was in Washington D.C. playing "superior" junior reporter, a position I want to fit but I am not sure if I actually can. I am grateful that the DVD is available, but I keep on putting off watching it. My father assured me it is not depressing, but I know it will knock me off my feet. I want to watch it on a day I know I can focus on it completely. I have not taken out time to truly grieve and I want this DVD to be the focal point when I do.
Within the DVD is the Christmas card his parents sent to us. Jay was a graphic designer, and the cover of the card features his last piece of artwork. I love the card but it cannot be simply appreciated for its aesthetic value. Then I start thinking about how difficult this Holiday season will be for his family, how difficult it is for every family when a member is sorely missed. Most Christmas movies forget that along with the gifts and family, there is an empty part of the tree where a loved one's gifts should reside.
Across from the mantle is a piano. My piano teacher recently injured her shoulder; she was out for a week and until told otherwise, her fingers are to stay away from the ivories. If her life blood was an object, it obviously would be the piano. And she is not allowed to touch her life blood.
Meanwhile I am studying viruses in Biology. How horrible is it that viruses can be spread to plants through gardening and farming tools? Try to prune and shear, let the plant grow in straight lines and health, and you may be essentially hooking it up to an IV of death.
I am not as melancholy or as "depressed" as I seem, but I need to explore my thoughts.
Last night my mom went shopping with my grandmother for a wig. No matter what my grandmother's cancer is here to stay; the most unwanted visitors always stay.
Odd. I just received a recorded message from my dad, he used his old high school's message service. I heard, "Hi, this is Marion __________" and I think to myself, "Dad, that's an odd way to call me..."
I wish he had not used the machine, even if it is the most effecient thing to do. At least my dad knows what he is saving his time for.
The uncertainty of the future is making me more nervous than I care to admit. I could be in Illinois, Ohio, Massachusetts, New York, or Washington D.C. this time next year. Sure it is exciting, but I wish I could pinpoint the location a little better. I want to wear a college sweatshirt and say "I may go there next fall" with some kind of certainty instead of a hopeful lilt.
I am not in my right form.
Love,
Mandy