Welcome home, and remember what you're thankful for
My mom pulled the mattress down the stairs. Earlier tonight, her four dogs were all cuddling with her and she laughed she said "this is why I'll never need another man!" The house is a wreck, by the way. Trash everywhere, endless articles of junk piled on top of each other, the honest refuse of a healthy meth addiction. Empty coke cans, burned foil, unwashed dishes. Did I mention the collections? Of black light posters (14), oil lamps (at least 50), and more? Broken radios and busted dreams, yeah yeah--I bet none of us know how we're gonna turn out at twenty. I'm sure my mom didn't suspect this. This isn't to say she isn't happy--her gap toothed smile reveals no regret, except that now she talks about going to Mexico to get the rest of her teeth ripped out and replaced with dentures.
Though the place is a wreck, it still holds charms of a brighter time. When cold medication could still yield a dollar, oh ha. Redneck paradise, that's what it was. The monitor that I'm using right now is a big fucking television set, and in the summers, well, we still got the party barge. I can't tell if I love the fact that I grew up here or fucking hate it. I guess it's the same in all families.
You know, when my mom looks at me she sees potential. I know she does. I always did well in school--I mean, I was a latch key kid with no neighbors so I read nearly constantly--which is all fine and good. But when I look at her, not to be melodramatic, I see the seeds of my own DESTRUCTION. I have no real examples from my youth of responsible behavior. My mom quit her job when I was in sixth grade to become a meth cook and hasn't worked since. My dad is an alcoholic musician that hasn't worked more than twenty hours a week my whole life. My dad has had four wives--my mom has dated a string of ex-cons that could supply COPS with a whole fucking season. Sometimes when I'm recovering from my hangover or quitting yet another job or giving it up too easy I think "Gee, thanks Mom and Dad!"
Not that this doesn't happen to other people or that I'm not in control of my own destiny.
Don't get me wrong, either. I love my family. I love the fact that they're fucking rock and roll redneck outlaws. I love smoking weed in the woods. I FUCKING LOVE WHISKEY. Bourbon and Bonfires forever, porches and beer, and of course, friends. All I'm saying is that the apple don't fall far from the tree, for better or worse.
Blood is thicker than water,
Jenny
Though the place is a wreck, it still holds charms of a brighter time. When cold medication could still yield a dollar, oh ha. Redneck paradise, that's what it was. The monitor that I'm using right now is a big fucking television set, and in the summers, well, we still got the party barge. I can't tell if I love the fact that I grew up here or fucking hate it. I guess it's the same in all families.
You know, when my mom looks at me she sees potential. I know she does. I always did well in school--I mean, I was a latch key kid with no neighbors so I read nearly constantly--which is all fine and good. But when I look at her, not to be melodramatic, I see the seeds of my own DESTRUCTION. I have no real examples from my youth of responsible behavior. My mom quit her job when I was in sixth grade to become a meth cook and hasn't worked since. My dad is an alcoholic musician that hasn't worked more than twenty hours a week my whole life. My dad has had four wives--my mom has dated a string of ex-cons that could supply COPS with a whole fucking season. Sometimes when I'm recovering from my hangover or quitting yet another job or giving it up too easy I think "Gee, thanks Mom and Dad!"
Not that this doesn't happen to other people or that I'm not in control of my own destiny.
Don't get me wrong, either. I love my family. I love the fact that they're fucking rock and roll redneck outlaws. I love smoking weed in the woods. I FUCKING LOVE WHISKEY. Bourbon and Bonfires forever, porches and beer, and of course, friends. All I'm saying is that the apple don't fall far from the tree, for better or worse.
Blood is thicker than water,
Jenny