Visitation Rites...
After much hesitation on their part, and an even more ridiculous amount of crying and pleading on mine, my parents are coming this weekend.
I've wanted them to visit for two reasons:
1. They are my parents. Though I doubt they would admit it, I want them to see and, hopefully, be proud of what I have done on my own.
2. Perhaps seeing me in my environment, and how happy I am, my mother will finally accept that this is the life I have chosen.
I haven't determined how candid I will be. How appropriate. I know the Britney poster is coming down. I'm hiding all of my journals in Tim's apartment. Not because I'm trying to hide from my mother necessarily, but because she is ten times more nosy than I am...and my mother does not need to know about my sex life, my expenses, or my level of temperance.
I'm prepared for the tension that may come. I hope being in my own environment will leave me less on edge. Home only makes me more enraged, resentful and restless. I swear, from the moment I hit the city limits, until I hear the click of my seatbelt as I depart I feel nothing but angst...and I am well beyong 16.
The best part, and also the saddest is that my father will not be able to hide from me. There is no garage, so clay pigeon range, no fish to catch. My father has avoided me since I graduated. We never talk like we used to. It kills me. You can tell he is uneasy with me, sticking to the same three questions; how are you, how's tim, how's work. My dad used to talk to my grandmother once a week on Sunday for at least a half hour for 40 years. Surely he is used to the parental question and answer. Perhaps, at this stage in the game, he just doesn't want to know. Innocence is bliss.
I'm exhausted.
I've wanted them to visit for two reasons:
1. They are my parents. Though I doubt they would admit it, I want them to see and, hopefully, be proud of what I have done on my own.
2. Perhaps seeing me in my environment, and how happy I am, my mother will finally accept that this is the life I have chosen.
I haven't determined how candid I will be. How appropriate. I know the Britney poster is coming down. I'm hiding all of my journals in Tim's apartment. Not because I'm trying to hide from my mother necessarily, but because she is ten times more nosy than I am...and my mother does not need to know about my sex life, my expenses, or my level of temperance.
I'm prepared for the tension that may come. I hope being in my own environment will leave me less on edge. Home only makes me more enraged, resentful and restless. I swear, from the moment I hit the city limits, until I hear the click of my seatbelt as I depart I feel nothing but angst...and I am well beyong 16.
The best part, and also the saddest is that my father will not be able to hide from me. There is no garage, so clay pigeon range, no fish to catch. My father has avoided me since I graduated. We never talk like we used to. It kills me. You can tell he is uneasy with me, sticking to the same three questions; how are you, how's tim, how's work. My dad used to talk to my grandmother once a week on Sunday for at least a half hour for 40 years. Surely he is used to the parental question and answer. Perhaps, at this stage in the game, he just doesn't want to know. Innocence is bliss.
I'm exhausted.