I wake up thinking about strip malls and mass media
There's so much light in our room in the morning. Blue and white and cheerful. The birds going at it out there in the wider city.
It's my first day since I quit my job at the PR firm that I don't have anything to do. I mean, I have "To Do" lists, but no set activity, no organized event to frame the rest of my day around. It's been way too long since I had one of these. I feel awkward and quiet in the morning light.
The kids I tutor are on Spring Break, so I'm free for this week. On Friday Alan and I are going down to DC for Easter with my mom, Jeanne, Matt and the baby.
I haven't spoken to my father in months. Knowing he can't take the initiative but misses me, I used to call fairly often. At least when I was going down to DC. But now I've stopped. He doesn't call, talks about it with my sisters, writes his will (Jeanne tells me everything will go exactly three ways, even-stevens between his three girls. I say "One third of what? Don't they take it all back if you die in debt?" She chuckles with me.) I love him. I do. That's why I'm so mad. Because he's my father. If he were anyone else, I could forgive him. If he were an old sad man in a book, I could forgive him. But he's my father. And he'll never get it. He'll never shape up. He'll never have what I want from him.
Happier things. I've sent off Mariko's letter! She should get it this week.
Ok. Time to get up.
No one's home but me. I think I won't wear pants.
It's my first day since I quit my job at the PR firm that I don't have anything to do. I mean, I have "To Do" lists, but no set activity, no organized event to frame the rest of my day around. It's been way too long since I had one of these. I feel awkward and quiet in the morning light.
The kids I tutor are on Spring Break, so I'm free for this week. On Friday Alan and I are going down to DC for Easter with my mom, Jeanne, Matt and the baby.
I haven't spoken to my father in months. Knowing he can't take the initiative but misses me, I used to call fairly often. At least when I was going down to DC. But now I've stopped. He doesn't call, talks about it with my sisters, writes his will (Jeanne tells me everything will go exactly three ways, even-stevens between his three girls. I say "One third of what? Don't they take it all back if you die in debt?" She chuckles with me.) I love him. I do. That's why I'm so mad. Because he's my father. If he were anyone else, I could forgive him. If he were an old sad man in a book, I could forgive him. But he's my father. And he'll never get it. He'll never shape up. He'll never have what I want from him.
Happier things. I've sent off Mariko's letter! She should get it this week.
Ok. Time to get up.
No one's home but me. I think I won't wear pants.