(no subject)
when i was a child my mother had told me how her own childhood pet, a little salamander, had been accidentally flushed down the bathtub drain while she cleaned its cage. i thought it was sad, but like any kid i was all caught up in the idea, asking lots of prodding questions, saying what she should have done to try to save it. it's a thing kids do, they assume they'd have shot hitler. my mother became defensive and started crying. i sort of couldn't believe a woman in her early forties could still acutely feel the pain of losing a childhood pet, but i took in the message that they do. i was so fascinated by this tragedy. i used to whisper down the toilet boll to her lost pet. i used to dress up all in green on certain days, telling my parents i was in mourning for it on that day. pale green sweatshirt and slightly darker pale green sweatpants. green seemed an appropriate colour to honour this dead.
i owned a pale pink sweatshirt and the colour was revolting, every time i put it on i became really actually nauseated. i was a sensitive thing.
my mother also cried when i was sad over my first ever break up, she cried and told me she still didnt understand why her boyfriend, from when she was eighteen to twenty, broke up with her. this was to show me i couldnt keep crying and must get over it, to say we all had pain.
over having not spent enough time, in her teens, with her own grandmother before she died, i have seen her cry more than a few times. on birthdays. when my father talks about when they were young and she was all long hair and long legs. when she tells me i didn't spend enough time with her mother once she was old bitter and cruel. she cries and the storms cloud her and she cannot dispense with her regret. i never wanted to be like her and yet so seemingly without making any conscious choices to become so, i become more and more trapped by regret.
i owned a pale pink sweatshirt and the colour was revolting, every time i put it on i became really actually nauseated. i was a sensitive thing.
my mother also cried when i was sad over my first ever break up, she cried and told me she still didnt understand why her boyfriend, from when she was eighteen to twenty, broke up with her. this was to show me i couldnt keep crying and must get over it, to say we all had pain.
over having not spent enough time, in her teens, with her own grandmother before she died, i have seen her cry more than a few times. on birthdays. when my father talks about when they were young and she was all long hair and long legs. when she tells me i didn't spend enough time with her mother once she was old bitter and cruel. she cries and the storms cloud her and she cannot dispense with her regret. i never wanted to be like her and yet so seemingly without making any conscious choices to become so, i become more and more trapped by regret.