Poems, photos, rants and raves that are all inevitably me in one form or another.
First night home. Grin n’ bear it!
My mom is trying to plan a trip for my dad’s 60th birthday this summer. She’s angling for Costa Rica. I’m trying really, reeeeeally hard not to sound like an ungrateful asshole, though spending a week+ with my family on vacation (not to mention, um, gotta pay the bills, yo.) sounds pretty…not cool.
And I don’t mean to complain about my family because it’s still cool to not like your family, or whatever. They are pretty fine, as families goes. It’s just…I never feel like I can be myself here. Or with them. I’m constantly on guard, constantly feel I’m being watched and judged, and half the time I still get fucking irritated and look like an asshole because I don’t like being micromanaged.
Four more days. Haaaaappy Holidays.
Nothing more heartbreaking than the man you love (or the woman/person/etc) crying in complete helplessness and anger in front of you about something that can’t be fixed.
And I don’t want to hear a damn thing about real men crying. All the men I’ve seen cry have built up these emotions over a long time, probably because they feel like they could not cry. I don’t know. I’m not a man, and I cry a lot.
He was so angry, so broken over his dad’s part and departure in his life, still haunting him years after, and I had nothing to say. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t want to bullshit him, and tell him everything was going to be okay.
So I wiped away his tears and held his hand, and kissed his cheek, tears running down my own face as I tried to console him. And I quietly reminded him that his pain shouldn’t be swept under the rug.
I remember thinking that this was inevitable; no man without a father, either through life circumstance or death (and I’ve date quite a few) has resolve on the issue. Men as it is often have difficulty with their fathers. I thought that he dealt with the circumstances (not mine to share) remarkably well. And poor thing has been thinking for years that he has to, that he doesn’t have room to complain.
This doesn’t change anything, this hidden anger and grief. He is more vulnerable than I thought, but that’s what partners do for one another. Support one another, for better or for worse. He has stroked my hair while I curled up on my bed, sobbing, and has listened to me, seen me battle my demons. I will do nothing less for him.
In San Diego. Flew here to surprise my dad for his birthday. It’s so nice to be around people who you feel want you to be around (unlike my apartment?). My mon already asked me if I had thought about marriage.
Not that she wants me to rush it, but I think she’s quite eager to get weddings and grandchildren in her life and I am the most viable candidate, so to speak.
I just feel pressure to bring that to her. I want it too, sometime, but likely not for quite awhile.
Nothing concrete is coming out, blech.