Remembrancer
Sometime Late October:
The Kitten likes to eat tape.
I don't know if I have mentioned this before. It is something that strikes me as very odd, but a lot of The Kitten's mannerisms are quite odd. I fear I have only myself to blame. A single working mother in college is perhaps not enough care for The Kitten.
She will perish. Withered by the toxins of her desire. I wound intervene, but we all must fall to our vices at some point, so why not allow her this minor pleasure? Her next ill-advised behavior may likely finish her off much faster.
So what fresh perspective do we have today?
None. None? None.
I have wasted the day, in some ways. I had to have my IUD taken out. It fell again. I suppose that makes sense. I thought it hadn't been that long, but the last one fell about 8 months after I got it too. This one fell further. I decided not to get it replaced this time because it's a pain. I would not recommend the Paraguard to anyone who has not had a child or a reason to avoid hormones. Somehow the lack of hormones made it easier for me to get cysts in my ovaries. Cysts on your ovaries are not pleasant- if you've never had one. They can mess with the length and severity of your periods. At least they did with me. The Mirena should have done a better job of helping me avoid them. All my squirrel friends recommend the Mirena. I didn't know. Now you know.
I spent the day in bed. I haven't been sleeping well. I decided to stop taking my medication. I haven't felt up to running. I don't know the source. I never know the source. Every day is a crap-shoot trying to land on what I need to fix to fix it all. I don't understand the rules. I'm using the wrong dice. I'm using too many dice. This is a wholly unscientific approach. I can't help but consider that there are probably too many variables. And what would be my control?
November 3rd, 2016:
I voted today.
I voted for Hillary Clinton, and then democrat down the ballot, with the exception of the railroad commissioner because NPR had interviews with the candidates that I heard today and I liked the honesty of the Libertarian candidate. I am slightly ashamed to have voted for a libertarian because I am not a rich white male and I do not like Ayn Rand. He said he would try to get the office title changed to represent that it is in actuality related to oil, though, and I thought that was a nice thing to aim for. I will try to be better informed at the next election. I am determined to vote during mid-term senate races. I want to try to get into local politics as well. I have given in to the idea that I will not have children, and may possibly never marry, so it seems like a good use of time to get into policy and travel. I want to feel like I did something positive at some point. More positive than just striving to understand my mother.
I am feeling more lucid lately.
I don't know if it's because I have been reading more, or if it's just because I have more time to myself, but I have started to remember things. I feel as though I am coming awake from a small haze - I worry a little bit that this means I will suffer from dementia in my old age. NPR told me that worrying will just lead to me acquiring dementia because it is very bad for the brain. Keeping the brain active with thoughts is good, but if those thoughts are stress that is bad. The podcast is called Two Guys on Your Head and it is produced at UT, and I wonder if at some point in the future I can meet them. I have been doing ok in class, so I think I should be able to stay and finish my degree- and it seems like it would be interesting to get to meet them. I like the podcast anyway. It's very casual. I like to learn about thoughts. I like to casually take in information about the process of thinking because I spend a lot of my time stressing out about the different things I think and why.
But back to original tangent- I am feeling more lucid lately. I remember, vaguely, there being a lot of mixed CDs when I was young. That this was the way I was introduced to The Cars. I think this was through an old friend, but I remember getting a few CDs from the teacher I had a crush on as well. Don't worry, it was a very one-sided affection, and he is now living in Russia I believe, because he was desperately white. He was also kind of a dumb jerk, he was a little too in over his head as a teacher, and thought that he was quite cool, but did not quite know what he was doing. So he would lash out. He was brash and it was attractive as a teenager with nothing else to do- but as an adult, and even as the editor of the yearbook, it became clear that he was not reliable and not worth it. Sometimes you want the adult to be the adult.
They so often aren't. And then you become the adult and it's hard to decide what you should do because there were so few good examples growing up.
My mother might have cancer. I know this because she brought it up somewhat casually after arguing with my sister about not going to get tested to see if the lump her doctor found actually was cancer. She said she did not want to have them try to put her through a bunch of treatments and cut her up. I empathized. She had a difficult enough life up until now with the undue stress of being raised so poor and so alone in Mexico. My sister and I were not perfect children, she was not a perfect mother, none of us were given an opportunity to see what good communication looks like. None of us know now how to approach a topic without being on guard which makes us prone to aggression. This isn't a great way to live, so I understand her not wanting to add to this very stressful existence with the stress of battling to squeeze a few minutes more, regardless of the quality of that time. It's a trend in medicine as a whole. People are moving to palliative care because there's so little dignity to the end of life in America. People are left to suffer with sores because they can't move as their lives are prolonged past the point of natural ability. I don't begrudge her decision not to find out if it's malignant. I would probably do the same thing.
With that knowledge set up, I will explain a little of my weekend in Houston. I stayed at my parents house, and read a little bit, lounged as I do, waiting to go out with friends in the evening. One of my oldest friends was recently married, and she now has a house. I am pleased for her success, but feel our connections have come so far loose that it is hard to imagine why she keeps in touch, still, I went to see her. In a way, I hope to always harbor a fondness for her, but I don't think I am capable of that sort of attachment if I am being honest. That party was the primary reason for my being in town. The secondary being to see my family. I am ashamed in some ways to value friends over family, but I think you'll see why when I mention that midway through the day my mother and I began to argue. I am not sure over what at this point. I think she was asking too many questions, and I am much too suspicious of her line of questioning. Is it normal for parents to ask a bunch of questions about the lives of their children's friends? This feels like a uniquely Mexican thing. A thing borne of trying to make underhanded comparisons that highlight the failures of your children. So, I guess in that sense it's really more of a WASPy practice- or Tiger Mom-y. Perhaps it is universal. All parents just want to find a way to undercut their children that seems innocuous so that it's that much more painful and paranoia inducing. This is another reason I will not be having children.
So, as we argued about our inability to speak without having an argument and she mentioned for the 76892474395th time that I am dismissive of her just because I think she's stupid (which is not the case at all, they are two entirely different issues altogether (haha)) I said something bitchy (probably, I can't remember) and her face wrenched with pain. She got up, to walk away before she allowed herself to show further emotion, but first, asked for my hand. I recoiled from her because I thought she was going to hit me. I don't know why my instinct was to assume she would slap me on the hand for being cruel, because she had never hit me before, but it was and I pulled away. She grabbed for me and in one odd, much more damaging movement, she placed my hand on her breast. And I felt the lump. The unspoken lump. The hard mass that represented all the toxic behavior of our family, slowly devouring my mother, possibly.
"It won't be long now."
And she shuffled out of the room.
I have been feeling more lucid.
I think I am seeing more of myself, but it's from a distance.
I remember when I was younger I had a different nervous tick. I should not have been so quick to dismiss the hair-pulling as a nervous habit because it is not the first.
When I was younger I would hum after saying something I was uncertain of. If I didn't know how the statement would land. If I was not sure of the room. I would make this odd little whine at the end of my sentence. A pacifier. I probably still do it, but people are more polite now, or rather, people are not my family so they never point it out. My sister used to call me slingblade. I guess the noise was similar, I have never seen the film.
I finally had my drink, to wash away the guilt of my mother's looming death, and on my way back to my apartment door, for some reason, I considered that hum, and my sister calling me Slingblade.
I don't know if coming out of this haze is for the best.
The Kitten likes to eat tape.
I don't know if I have mentioned this before. It is something that strikes me as very odd, but a lot of The Kitten's mannerisms are quite odd. I fear I have only myself to blame. A single working mother in college is perhaps not enough care for The Kitten.
She will perish. Withered by the toxins of her desire. I wound intervene, but we all must fall to our vices at some point, so why not allow her this minor pleasure? Her next ill-advised behavior may likely finish her off much faster.
So what fresh perspective do we have today?
None. None? None.
I have wasted the day, in some ways. I had to have my IUD taken out. It fell again. I suppose that makes sense. I thought it hadn't been that long, but the last one fell about 8 months after I got it too. This one fell further. I decided not to get it replaced this time because it's a pain. I would not recommend the Paraguard to anyone who has not had a child or a reason to avoid hormones. Somehow the lack of hormones made it easier for me to get cysts in my ovaries. Cysts on your ovaries are not pleasant- if you've never had one. They can mess with the length and severity of your periods. At least they did with me. The Mirena should have done a better job of helping me avoid them. All my squirrel friends recommend the Mirena. I didn't know. Now you know.
I spent the day in bed. I haven't been sleeping well. I decided to stop taking my medication. I haven't felt up to running. I don't know the source. I never know the source. Every day is a crap-shoot trying to land on what I need to fix to fix it all. I don't understand the rules. I'm using the wrong dice. I'm using too many dice. This is a wholly unscientific approach. I can't help but consider that there are probably too many variables. And what would be my control?
November 3rd, 2016:
I voted today.
I voted for Hillary Clinton, and then democrat down the ballot, with the exception of the railroad commissioner because NPR had interviews with the candidates that I heard today and I liked the honesty of the Libertarian candidate. I am slightly ashamed to have voted for a libertarian because I am not a rich white male and I do not like Ayn Rand. He said he would try to get the office title changed to represent that it is in actuality related to oil, though, and I thought that was a nice thing to aim for. I will try to be better informed at the next election. I am determined to vote during mid-term senate races. I want to try to get into local politics as well. I have given in to the idea that I will not have children, and may possibly never marry, so it seems like a good use of time to get into policy and travel. I want to feel like I did something positive at some point. More positive than just striving to understand my mother.
I am feeling more lucid lately.
I don't know if it's because I have been reading more, or if it's just because I have more time to myself, but I have started to remember things. I feel as though I am coming awake from a small haze - I worry a little bit that this means I will suffer from dementia in my old age. NPR told me that worrying will just lead to me acquiring dementia because it is very bad for the brain. Keeping the brain active with thoughts is good, but if those thoughts are stress that is bad. The podcast is called Two Guys on Your Head and it is produced at UT, and I wonder if at some point in the future I can meet them. I have been doing ok in class, so I think I should be able to stay and finish my degree- and it seems like it would be interesting to get to meet them. I like the podcast anyway. It's very casual. I like to learn about thoughts. I like to casually take in information about the process of thinking because I spend a lot of my time stressing out about the different things I think and why.
But back to original tangent- I am feeling more lucid lately. I remember, vaguely, there being a lot of mixed CDs when I was young. That this was the way I was introduced to The Cars. I think this was through an old friend, but I remember getting a few CDs from the teacher I had a crush on as well. Don't worry, it was a very one-sided affection, and he is now living in Russia I believe, because he was desperately white. He was also kind of a dumb jerk, he was a little too in over his head as a teacher, and thought that he was quite cool, but did not quite know what he was doing. So he would lash out. He was brash and it was attractive as a teenager with nothing else to do- but as an adult, and even as the editor of the yearbook, it became clear that he was not reliable and not worth it. Sometimes you want the adult to be the adult.
They so often aren't. And then you become the adult and it's hard to decide what you should do because there were so few good examples growing up.
My mother might have cancer. I know this because she brought it up somewhat casually after arguing with my sister about not going to get tested to see if the lump her doctor found actually was cancer. She said she did not want to have them try to put her through a bunch of treatments and cut her up. I empathized. She had a difficult enough life up until now with the undue stress of being raised so poor and so alone in Mexico. My sister and I were not perfect children, she was not a perfect mother, none of us were given an opportunity to see what good communication looks like. None of us know now how to approach a topic without being on guard which makes us prone to aggression. This isn't a great way to live, so I understand her not wanting to add to this very stressful existence with the stress of battling to squeeze a few minutes more, regardless of the quality of that time. It's a trend in medicine as a whole. People are moving to palliative care because there's so little dignity to the end of life in America. People are left to suffer with sores because they can't move as their lives are prolonged past the point of natural ability. I don't begrudge her decision not to find out if it's malignant. I would probably do the same thing.
With that knowledge set up, I will explain a little of my weekend in Houston. I stayed at my parents house, and read a little bit, lounged as I do, waiting to go out with friends in the evening. One of my oldest friends was recently married, and she now has a house. I am pleased for her success, but feel our connections have come so far loose that it is hard to imagine why she keeps in touch, still, I went to see her. In a way, I hope to always harbor a fondness for her, but I don't think I am capable of that sort of attachment if I am being honest. That party was the primary reason for my being in town. The secondary being to see my family. I am ashamed in some ways to value friends over family, but I think you'll see why when I mention that midway through the day my mother and I began to argue. I am not sure over what at this point. I think she was asking too many questions, and I am much too suspicious of her line of questioning. Is it normal for parents to ask a bunch of questions about the lives of their children's friends? This feels like a uniquely Mexican thing. A thing borne of trying to make underhanded comparisons that highlight the failures of your children. So, I guess in that sense it's really more of a WASPy practice- or Tiger Mom-y. Perhaps it is universal. All parents just want to find a way to undercut their children that seems innocuous so that it's that much more painful and paranoia inducing. This is another reason I will not be having children.
So, as we argued about our inability to speak without having an argument and she mentioned for the 76892474395th time that I am dismissive of her just because I think she's stupid (which is not the case at all, they are two entirely different issues altogether (haha)) I said something bitchy (probably, I can't remember) and her face wrenched with pain. She got up, to walk away before she allowed herself to show further emotion, but first, asked for my hand. I recoiled from her because I thought she was going to hit me. I don't know why my instinct was to assume she would slap me on the hand for being cruel, because she had never hit me before, but it was and I pulled away. She grabbed for me and in one odd, much more damaging movement, she placed my hand on her breast. And I felt the lump. The unspoken lump. The hard mass that represented all the toxic behavior of our family, slowly devouring my mother, possibly.
"It won't be long now."
And she shuffled out of the room.
I have been feeling more lucid.
I think I am seeing more of myself, but it's from a distance.
I remember when I was younger I had a different nervous tick. I should not have been so quick to dismiss the hair-pulling as a nervous habit because it is not the first.
When I was younger I would hum after saying something I was uncertain of. If I didn't know how the statement would land. If I was not sure of the room. I would make this odd little whine at the end of my sentence. A pacifier. I probably still do it, but people are more polite now, or rather, people are not my family so they never point it out. My sister used to call me slingblade. I guess the noise was similar, I have never seen the film.
I finally had my drink, to wash away the guilt of my mother's looming death, and on my way back to my apartment door, for some reason, I considered that hum, and my sister calling me Slingblade.
I don't know if coming out of this haze is for the best.
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