Southern California is a trip. Being here is weird. The trees look right. I know where things are. I know how things go. It feels like home and not home at the same time. I don’t ever want to live here again, but it feels weirdly like my soul thinks this is home.
My grandparents lived a few miles from where I am right now for decades. I never met them, but they were here. My extended bio-family is not that far. I’ll be driving past even more of them in 11 days.
I see shadows of my past everywhere. The hospital where Tommy recovered after his car accident is 17 miles away. 17 miles. I can run that far. (Ok, probably not given the shape I’m in… but I could with just a bit of training.)
It feels weird to be here with my kids this time. I feel like a lot of this journey has been about giving myself the chance to start again. I get a blank slate. I don’t have to be what I was.
But then I think about what I have ahead of me when I go home. I’m nervous about a bunch of stuff. I’m feeling paranoid and scared. I’ll deal with it. But I’m having big feelings. I want to work on scripts but I’m afraid of drama. I may attempt to write them off-line. Or maybe I’ll be an immature baby and put it on livejournal behind a filter.
I feel scared of being public about my feelings and processing. I don’t like it when I feel this way.
I don’t like when I feel like unless I hide I will be punished. I’m not saying that anyone else has said that. I’m saying I feel like that.
I’m looking forward to going home to my garage. And my candles. I can hide in my garage and burn candles and not talk to anyone. Life will be lovely. Folks will come visit if they feel like and not if they feel like.
Frankly, there is a part of me that isn’t sure how much effort I ought to devote to trying to fix problems. There is no fixing. I just don’t want to be hated. Sometimes it don’t matter what you want. You are going to be hated.
And sometimes you just won’t be thought of at all because you aren’t important anyway.
I’m ready to go home. I’m ready to hide from the world in my safe little bubble. My bubble is so god damn awesome.
I got a bunch of postcards from you today and it made me so, so happy. The timing was so good. I’m missing part 5 but look forward to that whenever it comes.
There is something particular about things within “running distance”. I remember that feeling, when I was a runner. I felt full of power and possibility and it was about being free and able to leave as much as it was about being strong and able to get places I wanted to go.
I forget if I told you or blogged about it….I went to my grandma’s funeral a few weeks ago and it was so surreal seeing the shitty ways my family processes emotions en masse. I can’t shake the idea that somehow you and I are distant cousins. I know it is not a smooth road by any means but it gives me so much hope seeing the way you raise your kids.
I can’t wait to see you when you get back. soon!
I’m glad the stack of postcards had the desired effect. 😀 It was a goal.
It *is* about being strong. But it is also about expanding the amount of distance that feels like “my turf”. I don’t really like having scary things in my turf.
I didn’t hear about the funeral. I’m not surprised to hear it was hard. You haven’t had good experiences with your family.
Hey, all white people look alike. Surely we must be related. 🙂