Archive for April, 2012

Sibling love

Set up for the scene:

I get to work and the back door is unlocked. My parents and brother (when not at college) live here, but it also doubles as my father and my place of work. Big house: five bedrooms, 2.5 baths, basement, attic, den, living room, dining room, and kitchen, and too many doors between it all.

I text my brother.

Me: The door to the house is unlocked…. Are you home? I am very creeped out since I remember licking the door and testing it yesterday. Locking.

Brother: Take a knife and search the house

Me: AGAIN?

Note: the reason for being that creeped out is because I distinctly remember testing the door to make sure it was locked before I left the previous day. I had already had a bad experience once when my dad had left on a business trip earlier in the morning and the door was unlocked when I got to work later that afternoon. I took two large chef knives and walked through the house checking every closet, under all the beds, shivering the entire time.

Me: <= scared What if they have a gun?

Brother: I think they're probably gone with all the valuables that are portable.

I walk tentatively into the dining room and call into the house: “Hello? I called the cops!”

Me: The tv and thermomix are still there. (Both extremely expensive items)

Brother: Go to my room and check if my laptop is on the chair. And plus, TV is too big to be considered portable.

Me: …..GUNS????? I mean, this is SCARY, dude! And the dumb boys didn’t come so I am alone. (The kids I tutor)

Brother: It’s ok sis. Hold ur phone on ur left hand with 911 ready. And a knife in the other?

Me: Nice. You only have one sister you know.

Brother: Well what are u going to do then drive back home?

Me: Yeah :D Dad is getting back today. I will pick him up from airport :D

Brother: Tmr

Me: Today

Brother: Ok if my laptop is stolen I’ll charge u

Me: It probably is already gone!! If I die, I will charge you!

Brother: Ok sure :)

Me: Bet you it is gone.

Brother: Then it would all be ur fault lol

Me: Why? I locked the door!

Brother: Maybe u didn’t

Me: Someone broke in! I always test it to make sure! Esp. when no one lives here during the week cuz I don’t wanna have to take a knife and search the house. You are the worst brother ever

Brother: Well this never occurred when I locked the door

Me: Thieves probably saw no car and just broke in

Brother: It didn’t happen last week And the week before last week

Me: It only needs to happen once! Bad brother!

Brother: So where are u now

Me: What if I dieeeeeee! Outside the house. I shouted “I called the cops” into the house and came back out.

Brother: Lol So he probably ran away from the front door ?

Me: Hopefully? Maybe hiding in the attic waiting until night to kill us all.

Brother: Only u I’m at school

Me: No only dad

Brother: Or dad. Haha. It would be irrational to not escape And wait till the owner is back home

Me: They are THIEVES!

Brother: Stealing is a rational act

Me: Not true! Too much risk!

Brother: Haha when ur desperate u’ll do anything to live

Me: So they might shoot me and steal everything!

Brother: What if they don’t have a gun ? U can stab them and gain honor !

Me: Most ppl are bigger than me! And I suck at pvp!

Brother: For the horde!

Me: You don’t even PLAY horde, alliance filth!

Brother: In that case for the alliance! Blood and thunder !

Me: Blood and thunder is horde! You two-timing traitor!

Brother: I’ll try and get you reinforcements. Hold the line!

Me: Is Jacob around? :P I can just go pick up dad.

Brother: LOL. Yes, calling for reinforcements, hold the line!

Me: >.> ok. I’ll try not to die.

Brother: Reinforcements is on its way. Search house with knife ! Or knives.

And we did.

Forest fires

I haven’t been able to write much at all since November 2011.

I make no excuses: I don’t have more or less first world problems than any other writer I know and I need to decide if writing is what I truly care about and if writing is something that I am willing to sacrifice for.

There’s been drama lately. By lately I mean for the past four and something months. Amazing, horrific, breathtaking amounts of drama and yet even as I cling to the remnants of my life and wish to turn back the clock to a time before breaking up, before despair, before a quiet slide into the fuzzy dream-world of alcohol and too much sleep — today I look life in the eyes and ask how can I replant.

I’ve been reading Angela Mears. She’s all kinds of amazing with prose, a bit like my beloved Thene, and she wakes things in me that have been quietly huddling under all the drama, paralyzed and incapable of dreaming something better.

And yet I have to say, I want to be that younger self, that careless, dramatic, overwrought younger self who knew to take care of herself before all others because at the end of the journey the only person who walks the last few steps with you before you slide into the grave is yourself.

I spent the last three years in a dream, a haze, a delusion of Norman Rockwell. I thought that I could have happiness if I only cooked enough, cleaned enough, worked enough, subsumed all that I had into the idea of a  life which I had never had growing up.

No, I want no pity. This isn’t about pity, self or other. This is about looking at what I gave up my writing for and looking at it and realizing that I gave up what I considered mine for nothing.

I have nothing to show for three years of work except a devastating emptiness because I misjudged, accepting what I’ve heard all my life that I wasn’t good enough, obedient enough, caring enough, never ever enough using any benchmark, any standard.

I will re-plant.

I may have lost my house, my home, my roots, my plans for the future, but perhaps in a space with less dishes, less people to feed, less distractions to snag, less sadness to embrace, I will write more.

Rather than dwelling on coulda, shoulda, woulda and other similarly negative words, I can ponder the minute and delicate differences between push and knock and perhaps then I can submerge myself in something greater than emotions.

If I could sacrifice a vital part of my soul for an ideal of a life that I might never have, then I can sacrifice all else on the altar of what might be my art.

I am not afraid.

Where ever I go, there I will find myself. Again and again and again.