I left Vermont, not this August, but the one before. It was pathetic and glorious and involved burning furniture, clothing, postcards, and throwing bullets into the fire. I moved to Jersey, not this September, but the one before, and it wasn't entirely a mistake. If anything it made me utterly aware how not to live. There are things I've been criticized of during my time there: changes in how I acted, how I spent my money, whether I drank too much, worked too little. One friend from New York criticized me as patriarchical because I enjoyed sex three or four times (this, I took as a sign of growing up, more than any particular woman-hating bent that'd been cast into me with the discovery of my cock).
I don't regret moving to Jersey because I know who I care about, now. Theis and Ilana are just the most important. I might feel different if I didn't have an exit from my mother's office floor in site, but who the fuck knows. I don't regret Jersey but I didn't do anything worthwhile there. I grew backwards, in most ways. But now I'm out of my father's house, though that's where all my things are, and I've a path out of my mother's house. I've a job and I'm learning to drive. I cared, oh so briefly, about my credit, last week, early in the morning, and drunk.
I was at my father's house the other day. This August I left in such a flurry of drink and emotion I barely remember the last week there. This week I was there to pick up a check sent by a former landlord and some bills. I also wanted some of my movies. He seems so happy. Andrew is such a beautiful kid. Geraldine is so woeful and worthless. Isabel is well basically sleeping all the time. I wish money and disappointment and politics (though that hardly matters in the end) never got in the way, with my father, so I could know this part of my family. Though, those things hardly matter, in the end. Really, he's just a fucking prick. My mother put it best, or at least, she put it, when she said that nothing could please him. He makes fun of everything, always. It's ironic sometimes, he'll just sort of 'mock', sometimes its sarcasm, sometimes outright loathing. I can't think of a single thing in his life that he hasn't done this to. My whole time with him he did it to me, and that's where I got my sense of humor: at work I am the (everyone knows not-serious) grumpy kid who makes fun of everyone, and have been at every job, and with most of my friends since I can remember. But when he does it, it makes me feel like shit: so why do I do it to everyone I see?
It's been years of monthly bleeding in my mouth (I resist the obvious joke). Monthly my wisdom teeth, mostly my bottom right, swell well out of proportion and dig slowly through my gums. The lymph nodes in my neck swell and hurt and I can't properly close my mouth after sleeping because the swelling has made my gums taller than my teeth. I've got to bite into them and push them back into place against one another before I can get the grimace off of my face. Blood doesn't taste good, and really spoils a cigarette. Drugs and alcohol hit you harder though, as they're making direct contact with an open wound. In other news, I've never liked Pynchon, but am excited for his new book.
I don't regret moving to Jersey because I know who I care about, now. Theis and Ilana are just the most important. I might feel different if I didn't have an exit from my mother's office floor in site, but who the fuck knows. I don't regret Jersey but I didn't do anything worthwhile there. I grew backwards, in most ways. But now I'm out of my father's house, though that's where all my things are, and I've a path out of my mother's house. I've a job and I'm learning to drive. I cared, oh so briefly, about my credit, last week, early in the morning, and drunk.
I was at my father's house the other day. This August I left in such a flurry of drink and emotion I barely remember the last week there. This week I was there to pick up a check sent by a former landlord and some bills. I also wanted some of my movies. He seems so happy. Andrew is such a beautiful kid. Geraldine is so woeful and worthless. Isabel is well basically sleeping all the time. I wish money and disappointment and politics (though that hardly matters in the end) never got in the way, with my father, so I could know this part of my family. Though, those things hardly matter, in the end. Really, he's just a fucking prick. My mother put it best, or at least, she put it, when she said that nothing could please him. He makes fun of everything, always. It's ironic sometimes, he'll just sort of 'mock', sometimes its sarcasm, sometimes outright loathing. I can't think of a single thing in his life that he hasn't done this to. My whole time with him he did it to me, and that's where I got my sense of humor: at work I am the (everyone knows not-serious) grumpy kid who makes fun of everyone, and have been at every job, and with most of my friends since I can remember. But when he does it, it makes me feel like shit: so why do I do it to everyone I see?
It's been years of monthly bleeding in my mouth (I resist the obvious joke). Monthly my wisdom teeth, mostly my bottom right, swell well out of proportion and dig slowly through my gums. The lymph nodes in my neck swell and hurt and I can't properly close my mouth after sleeping because the swelling has made my gums taller than my teeth. I've got to bite into them and push them back into place against one another before I can get the grimace off of my face. Blood doesn't taste good, and really spoils a cigarette. Drugs and alcohol hit you harder though, as they're making direct contact with an open wound. In other news, I've never liked Pynchon, but am excited for his new book.