who am i this time?
last night was fun. it made me realize why i moved to manhattan 3 years ago. it also made me regret that i haven't spent enough time with my girlfriends this semester. it caused me to drink 4 large margaritas. it also caused me to call a car and go to sleep precisely as the sun came up.
this may sound vain, but i also realized i'm not as pretty as i sometimes think i am. either that, or i'm just extremely non-photogenic.
we went back to lindsay's, turned on office space, and I just couldn't sleep. probably because i was sick to begin with. my cold never really did go away, but i convinced myself that i must go out or i'll wish i had in the morning. i ended up getting dressed and leaving her a note next to her pillow so she wouldn't be alarmed when i was not there in the morning, around 5am, i asked the doorman to call me a car, and he put on his jacket and hailed me a cab. i was home by 5:15, made a cup of tea for my throat, battled (and defeated) alka-seltzer, and washed up for bed. i guess i just can't stay over at other people's houses from now on, unless i can sleep in an actual bed. i also take care of myself poorly.
the other night while i was getting ready for sleep, i read something that made me cry. i never cry. and as i was holding back my tears, i said to myself, "no, you never cry." but i did, and it hurt, because it was like looking into a mirror. and seeing Harrison Bergeron and i. it was so heartwrenching, the story, that it was beautiful. and as i turned the page, i was shocked to see "who am i this time?" staring back at me.
i searched high and low for this short story this past year. i have a copy of the original edition, by kurt vonnegut. its a romantic short-story that means a lot to me. my father gave it to my mother for a valentine's day gift one year, before i was born i'm sure. she would have preferred chocolates or roses. i know how my dad felt. he was trying to reach out to her, to show her how it really felt to be in love with her, and he wanted her to see it with her intellect. he didn't just pick this up on his way home. i know he put thought into it. i asked him why i found it in the basement. he said "she just said she didn't get it." that really tore me up for a few days. how could my mother throw it aside? i intended to give it to my ex for valentine's day but couldn't find it. i wonder myself if he would have said "i don't get it" as well. i never did find it, so i suppose the thought doesn't matter.
anyway, as soon as i saw it in this book, followed by the touching "harrison bergeron", i cried even more. why, i was looking for it all this time, and it was right here, under my nose all along. love is blind.
i lay down on the bed and silently prayed, momentarily, and was suddenly consumed with thoughts of my aunt's death. she is still alive. but my parents and the doctors don't think it will be for too much longer. she has nothing. no money, no insurance, not an object to her name. i pictured our small family at the funeral, with no one else there. i don't want her to go out that way, but i'm afraid it's going be like that. she hurt a lot of people, burned a lot of bridges, left a lot of destruction in her path. who would speak about her? would i? would i be giving her eulogy? certainly no one would exect my father or grandmother, my mother is too timid, and she doesn't have many friends to speak of who truly know her...i thought to myself, "i will do it" if no one else does. there have been times where i really resented her, but when i think of her as a woman, as a girl, and not my aunt or someone's mother, i can really see her. in her, i see some of my own faults and insecurities. the only difference are that hers are all she has, there is nothing external to hide it.
this may sound vain, but i also realized i'm not as pretty as i sometimes think i am. either that, or i'm just extremely non-photogenic.
we went back to lindsay's, turned on office space, and I just couldn't sleep. probably because i was sick to begin with. my cold never really did go away, but i convinced myself that i must go out or i'll wish i had in the morning. i ended up getting dressed and leaving her a note next to her pillow so she wouldn't be alarmed when i was not there in the morning, around 5am, i asked the doorman to call me a car, and he put on his jacket and hailed me a cab. i was home by 5:15, made a cup of tea for my throat, battled (and defeated) alka-seltzer, and washed up for bed. i guess i just can't stay over at other people's houses from now on, unless i can sleep in an actual bed. i also take care of myself poorly.
the other night while i was getting ready for sleep, i read something that made me cry. i never cry. and as i was holding back my tears, i said to myself, "no, you never cry." but i did, and it hurt, because it was like looking into a mirror. and seeing Harrison Bergeron and i. it was so heartwrenching, the story, that it was beautiful. and as i turned the page, i was shocked to see "who am i this time?" staring back at me.
i searched high and low for this short story this past year. i have a copy of the original edition, by kurt vonnegut. its a romantic short-story that means a lot to me. my father gave it to my mother for a valentine's day gift one year, before i was born i'm sure. she would have preferred chocolates or roses. i know how my dad felt. he was trying to reach out to her, to show her how it really felt to be in love with her, and he wanted her to see it with her intellect. he didn't just pick this up on his way home. i know he put thought into it. i asked him why i found it in the basement. he said "she just said she didn't get it." that really tore me up for a few days. how could my mother throw it aside? i intended to give it to my ex for valentine's day but couldn't find it. i wonder myself if he would have said "i don't get it" as well. i never did find it, so i suppose the thought doesn't matter.
anyway, as soon as i saw it in this book, followed by the touching "harrison bergeron", i cried even more. why, i was looking for it all this time, and it was right here, under my nose all along. love is blind.
i lay down on the bed and silently prayed, momentarily, and was suddenly consumed with thoughts of my aunt's death. she is still alive. but my parents and the doctors don't think it will be for too much longer. she has nothing. no money, no insurance, not an object to her name. i pictured our small family at the funeral, with no one else there. i don't want her to go out that way, but i'm afraid it's going be like that. she hurt a lot of people, burned a lot of bridges, left a lot of destruction in her path. who would speak about her? would i? would i be giving her eulogy? certainly no one would exect my father or grandmother, my mother is too timid, and she doesn't have many friends to speak of who truly know her...i thought to myself, "i will do it" if no one else does. there have been times where i really resented her, but when i think of her as a woman, as a girl, and not my aunt or someone's mother, i can really see her. in her, i see some of my own faults and insecurities. the only difference are that hers are all she has, there is nothing external to hide it.