(no subject)
My mother, on the odd occasion when she would eat an apple, would have me bite into it for her. She brooke all of her top incisors when she was a teenager. She still has the crowns that they put on then, so I guess that they're not very strong. One of them is starting to turn grey now. I don't know if its because something is wrong with it, or if it's from all the cigarettes. They've turned the hair on her upper lip and even more shocking orange that it would have been naturally. I'm tempted to suggest to her that she perhaps think about removing it, but I don't know if there is a correct or gentle way in which to inform one's mother that she needs to wax her lip.
I wonder if her parents were redheads. I don't think that she's ever going to find them now. So soon she won't have any parents at all. I thought that maybe loosing her father would push her to do while she might still have a chance. She's afraid of not having been wanted. Her brother found his parents. He has full-fledged biological siblings. I wonder if it's because she hasn't had enough time to get used to the idea yet. She only found out that she was adopted 21 years ago, when she was pregnant with me.
She was so skinny when I was a kid. She weighed 100 pounds when she was pregnant with me. She used to sit on the porch in a bikini and get a burn while she smoked and drank coke and read trashy novels. She projected a lot of her feelings about gaining weight in her 30's after her metabolism finally caught up to her onto me. She still has all of the clothes that she wore when she was rail-thin in the closet in my father's study.
They've started to talk about what they're going to do with my room. Because it's not my room anymore. So there's nothing that is mine and nowhere that is home. I don't even have keys to places that used to be mine because I get rid of them or put them away when I'm done with them. My home keys sit on the rack at home collecting dust but for the 12 days a year that I spend there. A key to my parent's car, one to the door, and two little ones from old gym lockers or something of the sort. I have keys to other peoples homes and cars but none of my own. Everything like home now is just a place that I'm allowed to stay for a while. Cars that I'm allowed to use if I'm careful with them.
The thing is that I don't even think I want to pretend. I don't want to settle. I don't want to try for "home" I want hang-gliding and exotic smells, and life experience, and a decent command of several languages and good stories and recipes and ex-lovers and friends that drop by unannounced and spend a night on the sofa.
I wonder if her parents were redheads. I don't think that she's ever going to find them now. So soon she won't have any parents at all. I thought that maybe loosing her father would push her to do while she might still have a chance. She's afraid of not having been wanted. Her brother found his parents. He has full-fledged biological siblings. I wonder if it's because she hasn't had enough time to get used to the idea yet. She only found out that she was adopted 21 years ago, when she was pregnant with me.
She was so skinny when I was a kid. She weighed 100 pounds when she was pregnant with me. She used to sit on the porch in a bikini and get a burn while she smoked and drank coke and read trashy novels. She projected a lot of her feelings about gaining weight in her 30's after her metabolism finally caught up to her onto me. She still has all of the clothes that she wore when she was rail-thin in the closet in my father's study.
They've started to talk about what they're going to do with my room. Because it's not my room anymore. So there's nothing that is mine and nowhere that is home. I don't even have keys to places that used to be mine because I get rid of them or put them away when I'm done with them. My home keys sit on the rack at home collecting dust but for the 12 days a year that I spend there. A key to my parent's car, one to the door, and two little ones from old gym lockers or something of the sort. I have keys to other peoples homes and cars but none of my own. Everything like home now is just a place that I'm allowed to stay for a while. Cars that I'm allowed to use if I'm careful with them.
The thing is that I don't even think I want to pretend. I don't want to settle. I don't want to try for "home" I want hang-gliding and exotic smells, and life experience, and a decent command of several languages and good stories and recipes and ex-lovers and friends that drop by unannounced and spend a night on the sofa.