L'embellie (The clearing)

all I want to do is buy a pack of cigarettes and sit on the rocks, bundled in my coat.

Sigh.

After Thanksgiving my mom decided to drive through this apartment complex. I was in the backseat and her friend was driving us. I was probably 11 years old at the time and had never really met my father. Apparently, my mom knew that my father's mother lived in this apartment complex and suggested I might be able to get a glimpse of him if we drove by. Of course, I was excited to see what he looked like, to see him from afar and know that I wouldn't really need to face him--to face any kind of emotion I had towards him. So, we drove by--we drove by and my father was standing outside playing with his kids. Whether or not he saw us and knew it was us, I have no idea, but I saw him.

Several hours later, while my mom and I were sitting at home, basking in the afterglow of our feast, the phone rings. It was him. Calling because... why? Because he saw us drive by? Because he suddenly, after 11 years, decided he wanted to see me? He used both excuses.

We spoke, we visited, he said he wanted to have a relationship. He called on weekends, we made plans for me to come stay with him for a week, and things looked like they could work. Then it all blew up when the child support folks called him up, looking to squeeze more money out of him. He was certain my mother and I were behind the whole thing. He yelled. He called both us liars. He quit. He gave up right there--changed his phone number.

Several months later, on Valentine's Day, he called and asked if I wanted to see him. He picked me up, him and his youngest daughter, and we went to his brother's house in the country. As we walked around, petting the horses in the field, he attempted to lessen my anger towards him by explaining that the reason things fell apart was due to the pressure he felt from his other kids--their anger toward me, etc. We played pool and laughed. He dropped me off at my house later, and said he'd see me again, that I'd hear from him later.

I haven't seen him since. His wife sent letters and even a birthday card, once, but I never saw or heard from him again.

For years I have wondered if I could find his children on Facebook or Myspace, but even if I found someone with their names I wouldn't know what any of them look like. So I looked here and there, but I never looked too hard. But still, I would search one name here, another there, and one day a few months back, I found a boy with the name of my half brother. I stared at his picture thinking that he had my eyes--my nose. I didn't know it was him for sure, but I felt it. I finally decided to send him a message asking if he had sisters--what were their names? Then I found his sisters. I'd found them. Almost the entire family.

He and I wrote messages back and forth over the period of a few days, but we didn't get very deep. I had no idea what to say. What do you say in a situation like that? This guy, he's family, but he's not family. I don't know anything about him. So we stopped sending messages and he added me as a friend. I took that as a good sign, but I've since attempted to make contact and have failed pretty miserably.

Today, I spent Thanksgiving with Ashley and her family in New Hampshire. I smoked pot in a garage full of forgotten toys, a popcorn machine, two motorcycles, and tools. I smoked very little pot but it took hold of me pretty seriously. On the drive home, Ashley's mother drove, her father sat in the passenger seat, sipping on scotch from his flask, and Ashley laid in the backseat with her head in my lap. I was deep in thought about family and time.

People say it all the time, but it's true: life is short. My brother Tony, his dad died a few weeks ago--a man he never really had a chance to have a relationship with--a man who told him that he loved crack more than he loved my mom and my brother. This man died having never given my brother a thing and who had to clean up after him when he died? Yup. Tony.

So, I was high, driving home with my girlfriend's family, thinking about how my father is a shit. My half brother says that our father is one of his heroes. When I saw that, I thought about how he failed me, how, although it doesn't effect me negatively, it makes me angry. There is always this desire to just tell him how great it is that he did well for his kids--for his other kids--but how he really made a mistake with me. At the same time, of course I don't want his presence or lack of presence to have any effect on me. Any. I don't want to be mad. I don't want to smoke pot and realize that 12 years or more have passed since my father made an attempt to see me. I don't want to think that one day this man is going to die and neither he nor I will have made any attempt at a relationship. One day he will die and unlike my brother I probably won't even know.

None of this really has anything to do with him, though. It has more to do with the fact that I don't want to fail, like him. I want to take advantage of my time and make sure that I tried to talk to my father's side of my family (which I can check off the list, for the most part).

At any rate, family is never easy and life never really works out the way you want it to, so I'll just have to see where things go from here. I have high hopes, however. I'm going to take advantage of my time, I'm going to be the best person I can be (for myself and those I love), and I'm going to do the most I can. Experience is everything. Risk is everything.


Happy Thanksgiving.

Mostly, it's applications. Applications are incomplete. Me? I'm good. I'm happy.

I took a test on Friday that would lead me to my goal of teaching, but I didn't do so well. Well, I take that back. I did do well. I did excellent on the English sections. The math, however, brought me down. I was one point off from a qualifying score... so I've got to take that again.

It was strange to take a test again, especially a three hour test. It reminded me of school and how different things are now. I don't worry about tests, I don't think heavily on things ahead of time (research papers, etc), and there isn't much in day-to-day life that I must accomplish to keep from failing at one thing or another. Life is not a classroom, for the most part, unless you make it one.

After my test, Ashley and I went out with Tab--the one friend of mine who could show up (save Rene who had to stop by vs. hang out--which was amazing. There wasn't much beautiful beauty in the night, but there was a beauty in the way we laughed, talked, and shared things. The honesty, the openness was there again. [Sad to say, alcohol is really helpful for that.] It was a celebration of my test, of being able to drink again (since the diet is over), and it gave me a release I haven't felt in a while.

The following morning, however, was no good. I fell asleep with my clothes on and my teeth unbrushed. My mouth tasted horrible and my teeth felt like they were wearing a sweater. This is what alcohol does to your body once your body is no longer used to it. It took a few hours to recover, but by the time Ashley and I were on our way to NH to see Mike Doughty, I was feeling much better.

The drive to NH wasn't pleasant though, due to the rain. Speed on I95 is usually 70-75, but the rain was so heavy that visibility was nonexistent at any speed over 50. For most of the time, I drove 45 and it was terrible.

I'd like to write more, to at least document some life things, but Ashley's brother just had another baby and there is pressure for me to finish this so baby pictures can be exchanged. So... til next time.

The Hazards Of Love 4 (The Drowned)
The Decemberists


Margaret arrayed the rocks around the hull before it was sinking,
A million stones, a million bones, a million holes within the chinking.

And painting rings around your eyes these peppered holes so filled with crying.
A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying.

Tell me now, tell me this, A forest's son, a river's daughter,
A willow on the willow wisp, our ghosts will wander all of the water.

So let's be married here today these rushing waves to bare our witness,
And we will lye like river stones rolling only where it takes us.

But I pulled you and I called you here,
And I caught you and I brought you here
These hazards of love, never more will trouble us.

Oh Margaret the lapping waves are licking quietly at our ankles
another bow another breath this brilliant chill's come for the shackle.

With this long last rush of air we speak our vows and sorry whispers,
when the waves came crashing down, he closed his eyes and softly kissed her.

But I pulled you and I called you here,
And I caught you and I brought you here
These hazards of love, never more will trouble us.
And these hazards of love, never more will trouble us.

I want to write a book of poems called "Nine Months in France."

I may never.

I've hope for more than a few things, specifically, at this moment, I have the hope of returning to France, of speaking French and talking of art and intellectual things.

While I sit in my expensive apartment, I want to scribble tidbits of poems until they sound like a steak dinner topped off with a decadent desert, perhaps profiteroles.

I used to be terrified of things I'd never done before. I was young and almost everything new was scary. My mother used to say, "Kristen, there's a first time for everything." It never helped to hear, but, for the most part, that's very true; I never went camping before I went camping for the first time with Ricky.

Today is the first time I will have made a decision based on money. I'm not sure I'm making the right decision, but I know I am making a sound decision. You see, for the past few months I have been having issues with a tooth that was recently had the filling replaced. My dentist thought this was the best idea for tooth maintenance--a preventative. Since that day three months ago, drinking anything cold (or even room temperature) was insanely painful. After my second trip back to the dentist, the tooth stopped waking me in the middle of the night, so I thought things we're getting better. Then, last week when my cousin Sara was up from MS visiting, I woke up at 5 am with a horrible pain in my mouth. So, I broke down and made another (this being the third appointment after the filling) call to the dentist.

My appointment was on Wednesday last week and I was excited to find a solution to the problem. I knew he wasn't going to let me come in for a third time and not try something different and was pleased when I was lead into the x-ray room. I said all the same things to the dental assistant: Yes, it's sensitive to cold--No, heat doesn't really bother it--I don't chew on that side of my mouth anymore because it hurts--Occasionally, I wake up in pain. I waited after that, sitting in the chair across from my x-ray, trying to examine it myself as if I knew what to look for. Around the root of my tooth, I noticed some cloudy black marks and joked with myself about how that was exactly where the pain was--at least the doctor would be able to see that I was in pain. Then, when he sat down and I repeated the same things I'd said to the assistant, he looked at me seriously and said, "Well, now I see that you have a reason to be in pain. See the dark area around the root of your tooth? It's abscessed. The last thing I wanted to hear was that it was waking you up in the middle of the night. You'll have to have a root canal."

I was in shock, I guess, because I just sat there in awe. I finally had a solution. I could finally stop cringing every time I took a drink of water. That's all I could think. So I sat there, listening to him explain what I needed to do and agreeing with everything. Yes, I would have a root canal right away! Then, as I stood at the counter with the office manager readying an appointment for me, she said, "You don't seem to have insurance Kristen--are you going to be okay with having this procedure? It's very expensive." I said I knew, that I should be fine, but I asked how much, anyway. I expected it to be a few hundred dollars, but when she said it would be $1000+, not including the crown that would have to be put on afterward, I nearly fell over. I left after telling her I had to think it over and would give her an answer within the next few days.

I went back to work to think things over. After talking with my aunt I decided to call the office and ask how much an extraction would be. The difference in price and the fact that a root canal isn't always a guaranteed fix swayed me to choose to have it removed.

So today is a day of firsts. It is my first decision I've made that has felt like an adult decision. This will effect me--I will feel it. And it's also the first time I will have to lose a tooth that wasn't scheduled to fall out after 5 years time.

It's a big day. Wish me luck.

I thought I had it last week--that raise I had mentioned I could use. I thought I had it in my grasps without having to ask for it. And I did. Kind of.

On Thursday last week, I called my boss to give him an update on the jobsite that he's deemed my 'baby,' and at the end of our chat he said, "I'm coming by around lunch tomorrow. I have an offer to talk to you about." I didn't think too much of it at the time, in fact I brushed over it completely to ask if he planned for us to work on Labor Day.

After getting off the phone, I started thinking about what this offer could be. I'd gotten out of work early and was on my way to Ashley's office to bring her a mid-day coffee, so I had plenty of time to contemplate the possibilities and how I would like to handle whatever it could be.

I expected a raise. More money for the responsibility I've just recently taken over. But how much and in what form would this raise come?

Well, needless to say, nothing too exciting happened. I wasn't offered a raise so much as a sizable bonus if I can keep the hours below estimated hours. Really, the bonus is better than a raise. A raise of a dollar would ultimately only equal out to another $40 weekly whereas this bonus--if I can reach the goal I'm setting for myself--will result in about $100 weekly. The downside is that it only applies to this job and for all intents and purposes I am still just a painter and nothing any more significant.

So... at least I am close.

I just woke from a nap about an hour ago.

Man, I love working 8am - 12pm.

It was an accident. I should technically have been at work, but the work ran out--which is okay as long as it doesn't continue like this.

I needed it, though. A break. A break that wasn't "vacation to Chicago where no one can sit still!" A break that was just me, in silence, with my guitar or a book or a movie.

Today I wrote a song--part of... most of a song. I also read a couple pages out of Jude the Obscure, which I started roughly 3 years ago in a lit. class with Archambeau and never bothered to finish it. I also napped. Today was most successful.

And tonight, too, should be good as I'm going out to have some beers with Jorge (finally).

I wish I had more time, but days just seem so short, my ability to stay awake so stinted, energy so lacking. I'm not old, just focused. But a lot of days I want to be focused on something other than painting.

During my nap I had the beginnings of a dream, one where I was about to talk to a therapist for a few minutes--as if we were friends--and I was struggling to keep back my discomfort with life right now. After all, life is excellent right now. Excellent except for the fact that time is growing so short. And I'm in need of meaning something more to the world than a straight cut-line, an even-rolled/no-lines wall, or a repaired crack. I'm in need of meaning something more mostly to myself.

I'd settle for a raise and more responsibility within the company, but I don't see it happening.

- Thursday was crazy stupid. Second fight with Ashley and very lame it was.
- Left for Chicago on Friday morning at 6.
- Saw turkeys and lots of breathtaking mountain views.
- NY is a long fucking state.
- PA was boring, but we only hit the tip.
- OH is pretty dumb too and someone threw a whole mountain dew bottle out the window on I-90. Geeze.
- Made it to Cleveland in 13 hours instead of estimated 12 -- not bad.
- Eating breakfast then heading to Chicago this morning.

oh...

My half brother on my father's side just requested to be my friend on myspace. More on that later.

A lot has happened in the past few weeks and it just serves, for me, as another reminder that life can change in an instant, that the unexpected can always happen.

I think I like kids after all, or maybe Ashley's nephews just drew me in, but while they were here I just wanted to play with them, talk to them.

I told/had my Aunt B. tell my aunt in MS about Ashley and I. From the beginning there were people I expected not to tell: my grandmother and my aunt in MS. Everyone else, I knew I would probably tell eventually, but those two people were too scary to imagine telling. So I had Aunt B. do it. To my surprise, the world did not collapse. Actually, it didn't even shutter. I could and have cried over the thought of her knowing about Ashley and I (and the reaction she may have), but when it came to it she said to me, "If I had to sit down and pick out someone for everyone I know it probably wouldn't have been my first choice. But it's about loving you, not about who you love." And ok, I cried then, too.

Ashley's family has crumbled in the past week. Right before my eyes. I've tried to keep her positive and tell her to hold out hope, but all her predictions of despair have been right so far. So while Ashley and her mother and father try to figure out the best way to deal with this, I sit back and wonder how it could happen in the first place.


Question for you: If your wife/husband wanted you to abandon your family, would you do it? I feel like circumstances are unimportant--you either would or wouldn't.

It's been nearly a month since I've had a cigarette--four weeks on Sunday--and despite this, my throat still hurts.

I think I've quit. I say to myself that I have; I really have no desire to smoke anymore but am afraid I'll end up in a situation where a cigarette is offered in a social situation (i.e. Linhhai's wedding in a few weeks / any bbq had before winter rears its head / visiting my mom or brother) that I will take it. A month is an accomplishment, but I've done it before. Last year--oh wow, longer than that, at this point--year before last I quit smoking for a month while dating someone who didn't like it. A month later as things began to turn to shit, I started smoking again.

So there you have it, an accomplishment but not necessarily an ending to it all.

... of a technological age that doesn't particularly care if we're survive?


Technology has its ups and downs but from where I'm sitting these days, I'd have to say we've hit the point where things get worse before they get better.

I've considered starting anew elsewhere in hopes that I would change my writing style or that my perception of whoever-my-audience-is would change, but I keep coming back here.

I'm happy.

I'm learning new things each day about myself, my life, the people around me and the hearts of others. For example, I realized that I've always looked at men as being fortresses, blocking out all emotion; in my head, nothing I could say would ever hurt his/his/his feelings. Whenever I did happen to hurt the feelings of a man close to me, I would be shocked. Shocked that they were hurt and shocked that they would tell me I hurt them. [To those men, I would like to submit some sort of apology: F., C., L., and etc.] While there are many people who are brought up to believe that boys have hearts of steel, they are not impenetrable. So I've learned that, reflected on it, and come to see that I've known it all along but simply haven't let it effect me. I am hoping that in the future I take it into consideration; there is too much to be sad about for me to make it worse for anyone else.

I'm happy, too, because I am lying in bed typing as Ashley lay sleeping close by, which perhaps for anyone else may seem silly, but for me it feels like I've found something--something new and undiscovered in the world--that I keep selfishly to myself. Well, okay, I don't keep her to myself, but I do hold her tight in the middle of the night some nights when dreams leave me feeling cautious of the universe. We're constructive. We're intelligent. We're children together. We're open and loving and comfortable. I may not say out loud that I feel like I could do this for as long as I can imagine, but I might feel that way.

Life's too short, I guess is what everyone says when they need a reason to fall out of line with their friends. But it is. Life is too short to find someone lovely, and keep walking without bothering to see what will happen and where it will go. I never expected to be here 9 months ago, to be lying next to someone I met at a party while drunk and stupid. I only expected to get a new friend out of the deal. And I have, plus some. And sure, if I were on the other side of this, I would probably be taking deep breaths, shaking my head and wondering how long the new car smell could possibly last, but sometimes a person wants to revel in what's good. That, my friends, for me is Ashley.

Now, to move away from that, I am--again--dreaming of Paris. I miss it in the deepest way. Before bed I remember walking the streets of St. Michel the first day I was in Paris alone or I think of the days I had to buy minutes for my cell phone so I could keep texting away. These memories are accompanied by a taste, a smell, a feeling so real to me now that I feel like I could have been there only yesterday, only hours ago instead of a year and a half ago. I have very real dreams of going back, knowing it will never be the same as it was but wishing to be there again, living in that smell, the damp air, the soft French word floating in the air. If I think too long on it, I will end up purchasing a ticket.

In just a few weeks I'll be packing up my car to drive from Maine to Illinois with Ashley to watch Linhhai get married. Linhhai's marriage, of course, it huge on my list of reasons to be excited about the trip, but otherwise I am simply blown away by the idea that it's been a year since I've been to Chicago. A year. A place like Chicago can change a lot within a year.

Oh, and just for the record, Kaileigh, my second niece, was born on 7/8/09 and she's freaking awesome.

Oh! And from my previous entry, the R. I was referring to was soon after fired. I wasn't told for what exactly, but I bet it had something to do with my conversation with C.
The end.

So here I am caught up in my life without the chance to stop and write about all the good things and the bad things, hoping that someone out there even cares to read about it, but knowing that I will want to remember this time in some later years and needing to put it down. So I'm taking a minute to say that things are not perfect, that they are not what I expect day-to-day, that they are real life, without the struggle.

First and foremost, I am tired. I work and I want to sleep all day and all weekend, but I don't because it's better not to in a lot of ways. Mostly, I spend so much of my time at work, the weekends are the only time I really have to myself, so I can't sleep that away.

Second, I still rarely see Jorge and recently had a dream that he and I parted ways. This isn't too far from what went down last summer, so perhaps I'm just having a little emotional remembering? At any rate, when I do see him, it's beautiful to remember how much he means to me and what a good time we have when we're together. And damnit, it's nice to have him bring out that manly side in me.

Thirds, the Old Port Festival is this weekend and I'm going. I haven't been since I was 10 years old, so it will be interesting to compare my memories from then to now... and have a few beers... with Fred (in town for a limited time only)!

And lastly, before I eat dinner, Aunt B. suggested that instead of looking for apartments right now Ashley and I should instead consider living with her. This is in the works.

The end for now.

Why is it that we complain about what's wrong and not about our complete inability to want to/try to/need to fix it?

Currently, I am brought down by numerous things (i.e.: haven't seen Jorge or Rene or Tim in forever, haven't had any alone time in a while, etc) but I try to find solutions to these problems.

For the past several weeks, I've been completely exhausted by 11 pm and can't find time to make it out and about with the boys. That's pretty much heart-breaking, sometimes. But I call and I text to make sure Jorge knows he's still on my mind and I attempt to make plans. I keep the door open.

And I haven't had much time alone in who knows how long. Usually it doesn't bother me, but after a while I need a day where I can watch shitty television, sit in silence, be responsible to no one, play guitar, etc. At this point it's gotten so frustrating that when I came home today for the morning and Aunt B. walked in to talk to me, I took a deep breath and sighed. I feel like I can't catch a break.

But, of course, it's not her fault. I'm hardly home. It's wake up at 6 or 7, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, shower, eat dinner, realize I'm exhausted from work, go to bed at 10 or 10:30. And sometimes, on the in-between, I may see Aunt B. for a minute or two, or half and hour. But me? My mind is on overload and just wants to rest. But a real rest. Not a "wake up at 9 and run around all day doing fun stuff" kind of rest. That's too active. I need a complete shut-down day.

So. I'm taking one on Monday.

I guess that my point is that there are options, there are solutions to our problems. So why complain about the wrong thing? We've got the answer.

The sky has been full of gray all day and I took my pants off about three hours ago when I realized there was no point in keeping them on, I wasn't going anywhere.

For three hours, pantsless, I've been looking for prospective jobs and prospective housing in prospective new places. I don't really want to move but after a short awkward conversation with Ashley this morning which lead me to believe that moving would be very complicated for us to decide on doing together, I've felt compelled to look and dream a little. Still, with all the dreams of new places in my head, moving is no more desirable now than it was at 7:30 am when I swallowed a sentence or two on compromise. I do, however, want a new job. A new job that, despite how hard I dream, it doesn't come to life.

I wonder where the good jobs are hiding and if maybe I'm "meant" to be exactly where I am, searching but unmoving.

1) Maine is considering same-sex marriage.

a) I went to the public hearing for this and was amazed that there are individuals who believe gays want to get married in order to molest children or be allowed to have sexual relations with animals.

b) Coalition of 150 ministers in support of gay marriage astounds me.

c) Catholics, Jews, and + in support leaves me in awe.

2) My cousin's demons have finally met up with her and she's looking for help.

a) Pot

b) Alcohol

c) Cocaine

d) A plethora of pills

e) I've asked her to consider relocating for a bit.

3) I took Ashley to meet Tom and his wife last night.

a) Water chestnuts wrapped in bacon.

b) Stomach pains/reflux/slight headache/Swine flu?

c) Tom and I are more alike than I knew.

i) I went on non-dates. He went on not-dates.

ii) Apparently commitment is not in our comfort zone.

iii) All this made my stomach turn. (I'm damaged, what's his excuse?)

d) After dinner, I asked for quiet time. Ashley said, "I know you don't want to like them, but I really can't find a reason not to."

e) I spend a lot of time looking for reasons to be mad at them into the night after lying down and finding it impossible to fall asleep.

f) At work I realize Tom is happy. That he must have been unhappy with my aunt. You can't blame someone for wanting to be happy, though I am doing my best.

4) Swine flu, wtf?

5) Not seeing my boys as of late = really lame.

6) My iPod died Friday.

7) My iPod came back to life Monday morning.

8) I miss my mother.

I'm not sure... but I think I was just discriminated against for the first time!

It's raining out so I have the day off from work. A day I've been looking forward to for the sheer ability to do nothing. Maybe sleep. Maybe stare into space. Maybe write. So far I've spent an hour of my morning talking up Ashley's diet program and have neglected to take chicken out of the freezer as I was requested. Oh well. It's my day.

I rented movies last weekend, about four of them, actually. Four movies is quite a lot. Especially when you find yourself ready for bed around 10 o'clock most nights. Regardless, I rented four movies: Milk, Les Chansons de L'Amour (Love Songs), Mamma Mia, and Il y a Longtemps Que Je T'Aime (I've Loved You So Long). Don't judge me for Mamma Mia. And if you know French and have seen Love Songs, don't judge me for that either. I can't recommend Love Songs. It'd be much better if it lacked all the ... love songs. Still, even then, it'd struggle to be a good film. I've Loved You So Long was alright, a little slow for my tastes (even for a French film) and not recommended before bed. I had a difficult time keeping my eyes open for the ending. As for Milk, I have no idea. I haven't gotten around to it yet. The point here was meant to be that I've seen two French movies in a short time span and realize how much it hurts not to speak, not to practice and remember the intricacies of the language.

Last night I watched I've Loved You So Long and was reminded of living in Paris with my host mother, Solange, and her daughter, Marion, and my awkward introduction into their lives. It reminded me of the silence French women carry when their sad, uncomfortable, nervous, of the conversations Solange and I had about the struggles in her personal life and mine over two-hour dinners.

I went to bed wanting to speak French, wanting to walk along the Seine and explore the Latin Quarter. Maybe one day soon I can get my shit together and get back.


On a completely different note, I went to see Raining Jane with Ashley and Tab on Sunday night. Now, to give the correct picture of my predetermined opinion of Raining Jane's music, I have to explain the first time I heard them. I have to explain that they're considered "gay music" and that I thought that was stupid and I have to explain that I probably never would have listened to them had I had things my way as I'm not an Ani-loving, Indigo Girls-listening kind of girl. I like Blind Melon and that's about as indie as I go. I like The Decemberists and that's about as strange as I stretch. I like Staind, damn it. So when, on my second date with Ashley, I climbed into her passenger seat to say goodnight and she said, "This is some of that gay music I was talking about. Their called Raining Jane and they're my favorite." I scrunched my nose and left it there. After Sunday, however, after seeing them play live and actually listening I can say that they aren't half bad. In fact, if I could watch their percussionist play again tomorrow, I'd go.

Already, without any help from anyone else, I've felt like an asshole today.

I woke up tired after more than enough hours of sleep to satisfy one's body and mind and wanted nothing more than to lie around in bed for half an hour, sipping a nice hazelnut coffee. I had committed to helping Ashley paint her kitchen this morning, so lying around in bed wasn't much of an option. She dropped my coffee into my hands and said with a look of impatience, "I'm going to get started. Take your time." While she assured me I didn't need to rush, I didn't want to feel lazy and useless. Despite the ache in my back and a hip that seemed out of alignment (and has all day), I climbed out of bed and started working.

At this point, I wasn't stressed out. I didn't feel guilty nor like I was in anyway embodying any jerk-like qualities.

From 9am - 1pm we painted her kitchen. I meticulously cut-in the lines of the ceiling, floorboards, cabinetry, and heater while she painted the trim and rolled out the walls. The finished product was amazing. Earlier, I'd said to my aunt that Ashley's kitchen was the type of place that no amount of painting would improve; it would always look kind of disheveled due to the old wood paneling. At 2pm as Ashley and I sat eating our lunch and admiring our work, I stood corrected.

I also stood exhausted.

For a month and a half I have been out of work and scrounging for things to do. Rarely finding anything to occupy myself with, I've spent many days on the couch or in front of the computer looking for new job opportunities (for which I've found zero so far). Thus, I'm obviously out of shape. For four days previous to today, I spent 6 or so hours painting my aunt's room--working at home being extremely stressful. So after my exertion of energy at Ashley's, I had very little desire to do anything today. I didn't want to listen to anyone, I didn't want to do anything, and I sure as hell did want to not be lying on the couch or in bed.

This lack of desire to be bothered, or rather this deep need for a little bit of alone time, is where the frustration began. On my way home after painting, my mom calls to chat after our séjour from one another due to an argument over her rationality. She talked at me for probably 20 minutes. We managed not to talk about our fight until the very end of the conversation, which was surprising, but still she kept me on the phone without really allowing me to say much of anything. All I wanted was to take a bath. Once I finally was able to soak and shower, my aunt wanted to talk to me about her day--no harm in that. However, I just wanted to zone out, be alone, and not think about what I may or may not do later. I listened. I interacted. But I felt super guilty for not wanting to. She left for work after a few hours, leaving me at home with nothing to do but soak up my peace and quiet for a short period of time before dinner.

I've spent a lot of time feeling like I should be move involved. I should have cared more. I cared but not enough. I was like the husband who turns down his hearing aid while his wife is talking to him at the end of Revolutionary Road, just a stationary object for her to talk at.

Now, it's the end of the night and I'm in bed with the light set on the dimmest setting. It's quiet in my room (save for the periodic rustling in the sheets next to me) and I have my moment. And now that I finally have this moment, this peace, this unwinding, I know it's all I've needed. All the ignoring, the discomfort at looking at something in order to satisfy someone else was simply due to this need to calm. Still, I know what it's like to have someone half listen, half care, half try to be in my life. And I definitely don't want to make anyone else feel that.