I actually just spent maybe an hour writing a post about my family. It was the repercussion of a phone call with sister # 3 tonight, reminiscing about my mother and her temper. Because man, does she have a temper. Sheâ€™s mellowed somewhat, but growing up there was this vitriol and anger than came from a place that was unfamiliar to us and made me, at least, very uneasy. We knew it came from somewhere that had little to do with us, but we were powerless over our seemingly effortless ability to bring it out of her.
Anyway, after writing about all this, and how each of us sibs dealt with it differently, I read back on it and decided not to post it. Itâ€™s more or less where this blog thing is going now. I feel a little like it keeps working its way up into the world, and itâ€™s getting more and more likely someone like my brother or sisters or mother are going to stumble across it (not my dear dad, because he finds the technology in the TV remote puzzling). And I write about them here. Or, I have in the past at least. And thatâ€™s all good, and really, Iâ€™m pretty straight up â€“ if Iâ€™m taking issue with something specifically to do with your sweet self, then youâ€™re generally going to know about it. And I feel like the stuff Iâ€™ve written is not mean, or untrue, or even really unreasonable. I think theyâ€™d get it. If I found myself in a situation where I had to explain it, that is.
I argue with myself about this. This little mental to and fro about whether I should be censoring myself like that. I have this thing about being true to feeling, to the point where if I feel someone is stepping around something, or if I feel like something is being glazed over, I will badger a person or a point to a place where I A) feel like it has been dealt with, honestly or B) am declared beyond help. I think itâ€™s why Iâ€™m increasingly finding Iâ€™m surrounding myself with people honest often to the point of being painfully blunt. It sure beats the badgering.
Anyway, Iâ€™m not sure where Iâ€™m going with alla this, except to say that there are many inherently fucked up people in the world, and generally we are a product of our environment. And how the same environment can produce different levels and/or manifestations of fucked up.
But weâ€™re all okay.
And this post would have made a hellava lot more sense had I not cut maybe 2 thirds of it, but whatyagonnado.
I have had the album Alligator by The National in the CD player of my car for a while now. It was there over a month ago, for a period of around 3 or 4 weeks, and then after a holiday of maybe a week, it made its way back there again on the way to Jenolan. And itâ€™s still there. And you know what? Without fail, every time I start the car and Matt starts up with the crooning, I just well up inside. There are some albums that grow old after maybe a week of solid listening, but then there are some that just grow.
I wonder if I should stop the cat chewing on the phone cord. It canâ€™t be good, right? At least while heâ€™s chewing on that, heâ€™s not chewing on me.