What Kind Of Day Has It Been
I haven't written anything for a while. I don't mean blog posts, I mean actual writing. I haven't done any in a while. Maybe thats the problem. Maybe what I need is to write. I used to write as a cathartic activity. As a release for emotions so they wouldn't bottle up inside and then go off like a claymore mine. As is stands, I haven't written anything in a while, and I wonder if that is what is wrong with me.
Thanksgiving day. A time for family and food and leaves and drink and, in this years particular case, my mothers birthday. But none of those things are wrong in my life. And yet, something is off.
The day started with my dog limping. She wasn't putting any weight on her front right paw (her wrist), so my dad whisked her off to the emergency vet and I was so worried. I have issues about my dog as it is, does she get enough love, worrying that I am a bad dog owner, so all of those feelings of guilt came to a head. Starting a day of emotions and too much food and drink off with a bang. The vet couldn't find anything wrong, but gave us some pain killers for her.
Thanksgiving day. Eating and laughing and generally having a good time with my weird and wonderful family. My uncle made me a gin and tonic at my request, but to make himself feel better about giving me alcohol he made the drink in a DisneyWorld glass. My camera was passed around between cousins and there were plenty of pictures that prompted the inevitable response; "how do you delete that?"
And yet, something is off.
After dinner and dog walking (the Men always walk the dog in between dinner and desert and congratulate themselves on being masters of the universe) and desert we all migrated to the basement for the pool and foosball tournaments. I am proud to say that I was allowed to shoot 2 balls in my father's pool games. My dad and my uncle Rob were tournament champs, defeating all comers. I had some good shots in the foosball tournament, and pulled two muscles trying to play twister with my limber 11 year old cousin.
The younger generation eventually wound up in the kitchen drinking and talking. Somehow whenever my brother is around I become someone that I don't like. As we were sitting and talking my cousins seemed to be interested in my contributions to the conversation and my jokes, but my brother was not. As a born entertainer I got angry, then upset. And so I attacked him at my first opportunity. I don't know why I do this. My friends seem to think that I am someone worthwhile and fun to be with, but most of the time I don't see why. When people say that they are their own worst critic I want to tell them to live a day in my head. I am constantly looking over my own shoulder trying to censor myself, to make myself more palatable to whichever audience I am playing to, and I really think I'm starting to crack under the pressure. It's at its worst when my brother is around. I somehow morph into someone that no one wants to be around. So is it any wonder that he doesn't want to be around me?
I honestly don't understand why I do this to myself. I feel like that one character in "Mean Girls" who doesn't even go to the school, she just "has a lot of feelings". Sometimes I don't even understand why the words are coming out of my mouth when I am this person. I don't know what I'm saying, but apparently I feel very strongly about it.
It really is times like these that I envy those who truly believe in God, of whom I think there are very few. Those who honestly and with their whole being put faith in something or someone else. I can't. I have to put faith in myself, and since I have no faith in myself, its quite the conundrum.
I have always pitied people who say that they hate the holidays, because I couldn't understand where they were coming from. I still don't hate the holidays, but I begin to understand. Maybe for some people being around the people they love the most brings out the worst in them. Maybe I am becoming one of them.
posted by boppo @ 12:15 AM
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