I haven?t gone this long without writing since I really learned how.
The last few days are the first time I?ve felt like writing in a long time. Most of it begins with? well, not how awful things are, but really places I?d rather be. Which really amounts to nothing?just somewhere that?s awfully green and quiet. Quiet in the non-stressful sense.
Tonight is the first night she fell [this sentence is supposed to encompass the fright of not knowing what happened after hearing that awful, awful noise that isn?t about to leave my head, to rushing down the stairs, to trying to not freak out and start crying like a child when picking her up]. It happened about twenty-five minutes ago and I?m still worked up from it.
Lately, I think a lot: This is what it must be like to have a child.
Then I think: Jesus, never want to have one of those?at least not alone. Maybe not ever. (Ever meaning the next ten years.)
Because it must be a lot of cleaning up shit (after the dog?twice a day. Twice a day! and we?re not talking one of those small dogs. We?re talking about five pounds of shit a day?on my estimate) and worrying. Constant worry. When I come home, will there be some mess? Will she have fallen and hurt herself?
Phone calls (in all honesty) make me nervous. I don?t want to really answer the phone ever, but I can?t turn it off in case of emergency.
It?s shitty. I realized I have a phone full of numbers and no one to really call. Because I go through (in my mind) and think, HOLY FUCK! Who can I call? Then: What do I say? You [I] call freaking out to say, She fell! But, she?s okay (and still I?m freaking out!). Really now. Why get worked up if nothing happened at all? (but Something really did happen because it?s scary that you?re only twenty-two and your parent falls and cannot get up. Falls in the most ridiculous of positions and cannot move. Something because You Can?t Do Anything?just a passenger, as the commercial says, right?)
Disclaimer: A phone full of numbers is at least one-third full of people that I could really, honestly call. For the most part, people care. And good friends care better than that. But it?s an awkward thing and it?d be nice to really have a person to talk to that really understands and doesn?t just sympathize. You can only tell someone you?re having a shitty/rough time so many times before all you really want is some sort of advice on what works best to make things better. Or at least a real good hug from someone who?s literally stuck and unable to do anything about their current situation.
The only thing to really say to end this entry is to say that I really fucking hate the new Weezer songs. If those are the best songs they have on the album to release as singles, the whole album must really fucking suck.
The last few days are the first time I?ve felt like writing in a long time. Most of it begins with? well, not how awful things are, but really places I?d rather be. Which really amounts to nothing?just somewhere that?s awfully green and quiet. Quiet in the non-stressful sense.
Tonight is the first night she fell [this sentence is supposed to encompass the fright of not knowing what happened after hearing that awful, awful noise that isn?t about to leave my head, to rushing down the stairs, to trying to not freak out and start crying like a child when picking her up]. It happened about twenty-five minutes ago and I?m still worked up from it.
Lately, I think a lot: This is what it must be like to have a child.
Then I think: Jesus, never want to have one of those?at least not alone. Maybe not ever. (Ever meaning the next ten years.)
Because it must be a lot of cleaning up shit (after the dog?twice a day. Twice a day! and we?re not talking one of those small dogs. We?re talking about five pounds of shit a day?on my estimate) and worrying. Constant worry. When I come home, will there be some mess? Will she have fallen and hurt herself?
Phone calls (in all honesty) make me nervous. I don?t want to really answer the phone ever, but I can?t turn it off in case of emergency.
It?s shitty. I realized I have a phone full of numbers and no one to really call. Because I go through (in my mind) and think, HOLY FUCK! Who can I call? Then: What do I say? You [I] call freaking out to say, She fell! But, she?s okay (and still I?m freaking out!). Really now. Why get worked up if nothing happened at all? (but Something really did happen because it?s scary that you?re only twenty-two and your parent falls and cannot get up. Falls in the most ridiculous of positions and cannot move. Something because You Can?t Do Anything?just a passenger, as the commercial says, right?)
Disclaimer: A phone full of numbers is at least one-third full of people that I could really, honestly call. For the most part, people care. And good friends care better than that. But it?s an awkward thing and it?d be nice to really have a person to talk to that really understands and doesn?t just sympathize. You can only tell someone you?re having a shitty/rough time so many times before all you really want is some sort of advice on what works best to make things better. Or at least a real good hug from someone who?s literally stuck and unable to do anything about their current situation.
The only thing to really say to end this entry is to say that I really fucking hate the new Weezer songs. If those are the best songs they have on the album to release as singles, the whole album must really fucking suck.
