Gaga has infested my brain.
I have never liked her. She was obnoxious, calling out for way too much attention. Attention that I despised people giving her. It seemed to be she just wanted to be different so people would praise her for it; not because she actually was special. Washingtonians seem to have this unadulterated love for her that I have never understood. They worship her; envy her; even love her. So. Amber has been slowly educating me (forcing) me to listen to her cd (over and over) and I find myself waking up in the morning with the lyrics on my lips, the lyrics stuck in my head. 2chainz is her close second.
I don't know why this is important, but I figure I should just write. Because that is what I used to do. And in doing that I found the real things I wanted to talk about tucked inside of the silly trivial things.
The other night I was wondering if my Grandpa is still alive. I was outside of Tashias having my last smoke of the night and he came to mind. What really came to mind was the fact that I am not sure if he is alive. He can't be, in reality. But since I have no confirmation either way I think of him as alive, on his street, listening to his scanner and complaining about the drug addict neighbors. But. I know he sold his house after Grandma died. I know this because my Dad stopped to see him when he was in the area but he had moved and changed his phone number without telling anyone. This doesn't surprise me. He tolerated my grandmothers children for the most part. My father was his favorite. David's kids were always favored.
Because my dad wasn't crazy. His crazy life only made him stronger, it didn't break him like it did my aunts. My aunts suffer from these "broken" memories. The way my Aunt Rhonda and my father tell a story are completely different. My dad always makes light of it, there is something funny in the saddest of stories. My aunt remembers things just traumatically. No silver lining. I hope that I can be a half full kind of person.
I left this entry to play cards and ended up staying up all night talking with Chris. Now it is time to go home. I'll finish later, maybe.
I don't know why this is important, but I figure I should just write. Because that is what I used to do. And in doing that I found the real things I wanted to talk about tucked inside of the silly trivial things.
The other night I was wondering if my Grandpa is still alive. I was outside of Tashias having my last smoke of the night and he came to mind. What really came to mind was the fact that I am not sure if he is alive. He can't be, in reality. But since I have no confirmation either way I think of him as alive, on his street, listening to his scanner and complaining about the drug addict neighbors. But. I know he sold his house after Grandma died. I know this because my Dad stopped to see him when he was in the area but he had moved and changed his phone number without telling anyone. This doesn't surprise me. He tolerated my grandmothers children for the most part. My father was his favorite. David's kids were always favored.
Because my dad wasn't crazy. His crazy life only made him stronger, it didn't break him like it did my aunts. My aunts suffer from these "broken" memories. The way my Aunt Rhonda and my father tell a story are completely different. My dad always makes light of it, there is something funny in the saddest of stories. My aunt remembers things just traumatically. No silver lining. I hope that I can be a half full kind of person.
I left this entry to play cards and ended up staying up all night talking with Chris. Now it is time to go home. I'll finish later, maybe.