my last day in this house.
listening to ted leo's cover of since u been gone, looking at special effects hairdye, and avoiding the inevitable.
last night was the last time i would sleep in my room. the last time i would cry myself to sleep in this house. i made myself cry because it wouldn't hit me until my mom said she was going to strip my bed. i'm thinking about my very first xanga in 7th grade. it was in this house. my little 8th grade punk rock phase, jon, 9th grade, gordon, sal, garrett, patrick, every boy i've ever liked, every problem i've ever had, my dad's sickness and death, my mom's breakdown, school, getting into college. it's all been in this house. i've documented it sitting here in this very chair. and now that's all going to change.
the only thing that could make me cry last night was thinking of coming home from the mall or the movies and knowing my dad was "resting his eyes" watching golf or reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, squinting and biting his nails. it was little things like singing the na na na's at the end of hey jude or making me peanut butter sandwiches that he called "the choker", and reminding myself that i would give everything just to hug him again. remembering how he died, how he must've been so confused in the hospital and he just wanted to get up and leave but wasn't strong enough and his heart just stopped. thinking of his laugh that was almost like a wheeze and his face turning bright red and his eyes tearing. andddd i just cried again because my mom came in here crying and apologizing because he's not here anymore and we have to move to complete the transformation.
the idea of not living on long island and not coming home to this house scares me. i don't want to forget what's etched in these walls. i don't want the scars to heal. and i don't want another family to sleep in the room that my dad spent those last weeks in. i don't want them to eat on the marble island that my mom and dad picked out. i don't want them to use the shower that took months of stressing and mistakes to install. it's like moving is moving on from this phase in my life that's been going on for the past two and a half years but actually feels like weeks. the more i forget what my dad looks like or sounds like, the more supposed "progress" i make, the bigger the hole in my heart gets.
all of this is like a whirlwind that i can't control. i'm caught up and can't catch my breath. i'll be staying at jenna's tonight until august 4, lauren's from august 4 until august 9, and hannah's from august 9 until the 18, when i leave for upstate. i still have a million things to do and i don't know if i can deal with this emotional, like, truck that's driving through me. my heart is breaking.
so much for avoiding the inevitable
last night was the last time i would sleep in my room. the last time i would cry myself to sleep in this house. i made myself cry because it wouldn't hit me until my mom said she was going to strip my bed. i'm thinking about my very first xanga in 7th grade. it was in this house. my little 8th grade punk rock phase, jon, 9th grade, gordon, sal, garrett, patrick, every boy i've ever liked, every problem i've ever had, my dad's sickness and death, my mom's breakdown, school, getting into college. it's all been in this house. i've documented it sitting here in this very chair. and now that's all going to change.
the only thing that could make me cry last night was thinking of coming home from the mall or the movies and knowing my dad was "resting his eyes" watching golf or reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, squinting and biting his nails. it was little things like singing the na na na's at the end of hey jude or making me peanut butter sandwiches that he called "the choker", and reminding myself that i would give everything just to hug him again. remembering how he died, how he must've been so confused in the hospital and he just wanted to get up and leave but wasn't strong enough and his heart just stopped. thinking of his laugh that was almost like a wheeze and his face turning bright red and his eyes tearing. andddd i just cried again because my mom came in here crying and apologizing because he's not here anymore and we have to move to complete the transformation.
the idea of not living on long island and not coming home to this house scares me. i don't want to forget what's etched in these walls. i don't want the scars to heal. and i don't want another family to sleep in the room that my dad spent those last weeks in. i don't want them to eat on the marble island that my mom and dad picked out. i don't want them to use the shower that took months of stressing and mistakes to install. it's like moving is moving on from this phase in my life that's been going on for the past two and a half years but actually feels like weeks. the more i forget what my dad looks like or sounds like, the more supposed "progress" i make, the bigger the hole in my heart gets.
all of this is like a whirlwind that i can't control. i'm caught up and can't catch my breath. i'll be staying at jenna's tonight until august 4, lauren's from august 4 until august 9, and hannah's from august 9 until the 18, when i leave for upstate. i still have a million things to do and i don't know if i can deal with this emotional, like, truck that's driving through me. my heart is breaking.
so much for avoiding the inevitable