I was having a conversation with my roommate about Chuck Palahniuk the other night, and the book Rant came up. This lead me to remember that I had written something about that book once, which lead me to remember that I once had some kind of online journal. It's funny how easily you can forget something that you've apparently spent like a third of your life doing. That's a crazy long amount of time, which really got me thinking that it's probably worth looking at again.
So this is basically the same thing I write every time I come back to this, isn't it? "Wow, I've been gone a long time. I just started reading through all the old entries, and I was a crazy fucker." Yeah, sounds about right. It's weird though. I think in some way, I grew to depend on this. I always say that I can't remember stuff that happened last week, and I guess that's maybe where this picked up the slack for me. I don't remember specific events nearly as well as I remember writing about them. Since the other night when I looked this up again, I've been casually reading through it whenever I have spare time, and it's just bizarre. I remember this person like an old friend, and we're similar in a lot of ways, but different enough to seem strange. Well, mostly I don't get worked up over every little thing. I really was a crazy fucker.
Anyway, the point, and the thing that got me thinking about this. I have this box in my closet. It's my most important posession. Does this thing have spellcheck? I will never know if that's right. Autocorrect has made me stupid. Anyway. This box, it just has pictures in it. PIctures of that guy that wrote all the crazy shit, and the crazy people he hung out with. They always say that when your house burns down, the thing people go risking their lives to save is the pictures. And I feel that way about this box in my closet. But this, this collection of ten years of me writing whatever was on my mind at the time? I pretty much abandoned it. If it hadn't been for that conversation, I may not have thought of it again. That's kinda sad. If anything, this should probably have more sentimental value to me. Sure, I have bad memories of crazy interactions with people that came about as a result of it. But more of the memories are good.
I worked through a lot of shit during some pretty rough times in my life by writing about it. I met some really cool people as a result. I even fell in love. And yet my gut reaction is still to think of this as some silly thing I did when I was a kid. It's not wrong... but it's not right to dismiss it so casually either. I guess all I'm really saying is that I accept that this was an important part of my life, and I probably wouldn't be the same without it. Who's to say if that's a good or a bad thing, but it's worth thinking about anyway. So I'll do that. I'll make sure I take some time to look back on this every now and then, like I have been this past week or so. I might even learn something. I certainly seemed to think I was smarter when I was younger.
I guess it's traditional for me to provide an update on what my life is like now. It's really not that different. I still live in Texas, with a couple friends. I manage a boot store, which I guess is pretty unusual. Things are better with my family than they've ever been. Well, kinda. I should go deeper into that. This is gonna be way longer than I intended.
I just realized that it's been four months since my sister died. It still feels like a couple weeks ago. I think about it every day. I really don't know what to say about it. What do you say about it? I remember when I found out, I didn't want to think about it. It made the whole world seem entirely too cruel to be real. At the time, we thought the woman who drove into her was the same one who hit my dad and broke his spine. That happened, by the way. It turns out it was her cousin. Still, I was so mad at the time, I just didn't know how to deal with it. I felt like a monster for hating a dead woman, even if she killed my sister. I still do. I just... I don't have any way to articulate how I feel about that. I miss her.
I also felt bad because of the timing of everything, and how it made me split my attention from it. My mom was right in the middle of getting divorced when Misty died. We were all grieving, but at the same time, there was a lot of tension, and I felt a kind of obligation to be there for Mom. Alex and Ben wouldn't really talk to her, and the whole thing just felt awkward. And then you get angry at yourself for worrying about feeling socially awkward at your sister's funeral. I also feel bad that that was probably the last time Frankie and I will ever speak to each other. He knew that too. We hugged, he said he would always think of me as his son, that he loved me, and I responded in kind. He put all of us in the obituary, except for Mom. It's a little thing, but I know it hurt her.
I was totally unprepared for seeing Kandi there as well. For the last several years, she and I have had this crazy relationship. When we're together, we're together. That's just how it's been. We've always talked about how if we ever had the chance to live in the same place, we'd take it. No discussion needed. Seeing her there added a whole new level of guilt and confusion. She grew up with Misty too, and was probably closer to her at the end. I was so happy to see her, and I hated myself for being happy. She later told me she understood that same level of confusion. Without her support, I don't know how well I would have dealt with all of it. I didn't really talk to anyone else about everything, which is my own fault. But it just seemed like such a convoluted series of events, and I think I'm still figuring out all the emotions going through my head about it. She's the one who called me about a month ago to tell me that Rusty got in a car accident in nearly the same place. He's still in the hospital.
On a positive note, Alex and I finally get to be brothers. It's seriously cool as hell. Right after the funeral, Christian (his fiancee) found out she was pregnant, and we've talked a lot about that. Misty made them promise not to get married for another year, so they're going to honor that, but she really is great for him. He comes up to see me about once a week, and we hang out at the store, or go out to eat, and we just talk. We talk about old memories, we talk about the future, we just have a good time. Ever since a couple years ago when he moved out and really got to know who our mother is, we've been closer, but things now just feel really good. He still asks me questions about Mom, and I think he understands a lot of her issues better now, but he's still pretty mad at her. I think I'm just used to it. She told him the other day that she'd be done with her Christmas stuff and have some time on the 27th if he and I wanted to go see her. I doubt we'll even be able to get Ben to go.
Personally, I'm actually kinda okay with Mom. Sure, she's distant and suspicious and... she's Mom. She's the only mother I've known. At least now she isn't depressed, sleeping on a couch, and drunk all the time. She's capable of having a normal human conversation to some extent, and I call that an improvement. I'll go have dinner with her two or three times a year, and try to bully my brothers into doing the same. It's more than I could've hoped for a couple years ago.
When I sat down and spent way too long trying to figure out how to even start typing a new entry, I wondered if I had enough to say for it to be worthwhile. I guess I've worked so hard at keeping a "blank" emotional state that there's a lot that I don't really notice is on my mind. I'll try to pay more attention to that, I guess.
See Josh? Just one more entry, and you've already learned something.