(no subject)
Today has turned out to be family photo day. I found all of the albums from my parents wedding until their separation. I've looked at just about every picture now. This decision will result in me being incredibly emotional for the next few days. It's unavoidable, especially during a week where I've so passionately disdained the way my family has transformed, especially my mother. I miss her, pre-Dave. I really do. I miss my mother. I don't think i'll ever see her again. She's made the popular decision, comfort over happiness.
I spoke to a friend the other day about how you get those days or moments where you have absolutely no other choice but to write something. It has to be done...if it's not, you will do irreperable damage to yourself in some way. I feel that coming on...just looking through the albums, i kept getting images, or ironies, it was overwhelming. I look at a picture of a paper that i wrote about my father when i was 3. It says, "Your Dad's Name: RON. Your Dad's Favorite Activities: DOING THINGS WITH MY MOM, SHAVING. Your Dad's Height: TALL. What Your Dad Calls You: BUDDY." It really killed me that at the bottom was my drawing of him, a big face with 4 limbs coming out of it, and the closer i looked, the more i saw my reflecction in the gloss of the album, cut off, held less than a centimeter away from the picture, never there, never there again.
My home, my everything was taken away by the one person that made it beautiful. My source of life was ripped out of my mouth, and they jammed fucking formula in its place. I need to call my father.
I spoke to a friend the other day about how you get those days or moments where you have absolutely no other choice but to write something. It has to be done...if it's not, you will do irreperable damage to yourself in some way. I feel that coming on...just looking through the albums, i kept getting images, or ironies, it was overwhelming. I look at a picture of a paper that i wrote about my father when i was 3. It says, "Your Dad's Name: RON. Your Dad's Favorite Activities: DOING THINGS WITH MY MOM, SHAVING. Your Dad's Height: TALL. What Your Dad Calls You: BUDDY." It really killed me that at the bottom was my drawing of him, a big face with 4 limbs coming out of it, and the closer i looked, the more i saw my reflecction in the gloss of the album, cut off, held less than a centimeter away from the picture, never there, never there again.
My home, my everything was taken away by the one person that made it beautiful. My source of life was ripped out of my mouth, and they jammed fucking formula in its place. I need to call my father.