(no subject)
I count the days.
And the days haven't even begun.
I'll be here (Boston) for only eleven or twelve more days, yet it seems an eternity. Though the rain has ceased and the sun shines during the day, each day seems longer and slower than the last. Funny how, when there was a whole month left of the semester, it all appeared to be but a blink in time. But now I am here, alone, bored, confused, and it's getting to me; it's really getting to me....
It's a horrible feeling, in a way, to know I am so unfathomably happy when there's Us. So happy, in fact, that it really doesn't matter where we are, or what we're doing, or how testy we are because we have to pack up our entire lives within the next 24 hours, yet not miss meals or sleep. The happiness isn't what's the problem; it's the fact that I can't make up with my mother--that I can't be truly honest with her, and tell her that, regardless of how much she has done for me (far more than I ever reveal in my complaints about her), regardless of my previously-held disdain for the concept, I am in love, and it is wonderful. She just wouldn't understand. Her upbringing, her broken marriage, her thankless, egocentric child--all have dimmed or, God forbid, obliterated, her view of love (or maybe such a thing never existed in the first place). Frankly, I don't know why I'm even writing this. I mean, will any of you ever understand? I don't doubt it, but I don't have any particular faith in it either.
I'm trying, I'm really trying to make things work out, for my mom to see me not as who she should have been, but as who I am. For almost twenty years, my life has been engineered to become the smart, successful researcher my mother should have been, had my birth been postponed. But can I even fault her? For if not for all the influence she's had on my life, would I ever find myself as happy as I do now?
Sometimes I think it's almost decadent, to be so enviously happy. What did I do to deserve it? I was never looking for it; it just came...and stayed. And it makes me want to proclaim it from rooftops, to shout my ecstacy for all to know. But that wouldn't be fair, would it? But then again, I suppose I already have....
I just hope I can make things with my mom work out half as well.
And the days haven't even begun.
I'll be here (Boston) for only eleven or twelve more days, yet it seems an eternity. Though the rain has ceased and the sun shines during the day, each day seems longer and slower than the last. Funny how, when there was a whole month left of the semester, it all appeared to be but a blink in time. But now I am here, alone, bored, confused, and it's getting to me; it's really getting to me....
It's a horrible feeling, in a way, to know I am so unfathomably happy when there's Us. So happy, in fact, that it really doesn't matter where we are, or what we're doing, or how testy we are because we have to pack up our entire lives within the next 24 hours, yet not miss meals or sleep. The happiness isn't what's the problem; it's the fact that I can't make up with my mother--that I can't be truly honest with her, and tell her that, regardless of how much she has done for me (far more than I ever reveal in my complaints about her), regardless of my previously-held disdain for the concept, I am in love, and it is wonderful. She just wouldn't understand. Her upbringing, her broken marriage, her thankless, egocentric child--all have dimmed or, God forbid, obliterated, her view of love (or maybe such a thing never existed in the first place). Frankly, I don't know why I'm even writing this. I mean, will any of you ever understand? I don't doubt it, but I don't have any particular faith in it either.
I'm trying, I'm really trying to make things work out, for my mom to see me not as who she should have been, but as who I am. For almost twenty years, my life has been engineered to become the smart, successful researcher my mother should have been, had my birth been postponed. But can I even fault her? For if not for all the influence she's had on my life, would I ever find myself as happy as I do now?
Sometimes I think it's almost decadent, to be so enviously happy. What did I do to deserve it? I was never looking for it; it just came...and stayed. And it makes me want to proclaim it from rooftops, to shout my ecstacy for all to know. But that wouldn't be fair, would it? But then again, I suppose I already have....
I just hope I can make things with my mom work out half as well.