(no subject)
Ok so I'm sitting here with a slightly obscene amount of sedatives in my body, drinking a beer, and listening to Pink Floyd's Division Bell. I can't helped but be reminded of growing up in my house by Lake Allatoona back in the late 80's/mid 90's. Sunday mornings were cleaning times. We had this massive 80's sound system. My father would put in music and blast it with all the windows in the house open, on a morning when all other normal families were at church or brunch. It would usually be a Pink Floyd cd. That's right. CD. We were high tech with one of the 1st CD players ever sold for home use. He would usually play some sort of rock music, Frampton Comes Alive or The White Album or something else that defined a generation. I particularly liked it when he would play Depeche Mode or The Cure. I can remember countless weekend mornings waking up to Robert Smith singing his gothy little heart out. Just sort of laying in bed with my kitty listening to the music before my mom came into my room and told me it was breakfast time. Most times it was Pink Floyd. Not that I minded. That's why I like them so much now I suppose. It's just eerie when I listen to this album in particular because I was a little older and can remember details better. Like the lyrics and the song order. Yeah, my dad was a bit of a Floyd fan. And a stoner. Those two things kind of go hand in hand. I think about little things like that from my childhood a lot. I am grateful for my strange upbringing by a Lutheran and a staunch Atheist. Sometimes I miss my dad. Over all he was an OK guy. He had many faults and vices, but he was a good father. Very open-minded, always taught my brother and I to be tolerant of those who were different, and that it was ok to be so no matter what it was. He would always play games with us and play in the backyard with us and randomly buy us stupid little presents eventhough we were dirt poor and couldn't really afford it. Thinking back to the time around when he and my mother were having problems, I kind of regret being so horrible to him. In some ways he deserved it, but in others, like having your child say that she wishes you would just hurry up and have a heart attack so we can get the life insurane money, it was just a little bit uncalled for. I've apologized to him for it, and we talk on the phone pretty often. I still feel bad though. My brother is still a bit upset with me that I said and did things to my dad that were incredibly cruel and heartless. At the time though, they were warrented and justified, in my mind at least. I used to be very bitter and uncaring and had no empathy for anyone else's feelings. I'm still a little bitter, but now I think before I say things that might hurt someone else. I was a different person then. It's funny how someone can change so much within a span of about two years. Granted they were two very trying years full of bullshit, heartbreak, and general asshattery. Maybe sometime this fall I can go and visit him in Vegas. And finally get to smoke a bowl with my father. I have longed for that moment of bonding for years. I really don't know what brought all of this flooding back. Perhaps it's the drugs. Or perhaps it's just my brain being overactive when it is not needed to be. At any rate, I think I'm going to cut this, write some depressing poetry and knit myself a sweater. I mean....Drink more beer.