Chapter 44
These ties that bind us

So to start, I have been having extremely weird dreams lately, no surprise to you I know, because it seems like I am always writing that I am having weird dreams. Worlds collide usually and this time it was two completely different worlds, a fictional world of television detectives and an imaginary world full of people that I have never even seen before (like a boy being interested in me). There’s death, romance, suspense, it has it all except a clear plot line. And the fact that I can’t really remember everything, but I was shot at and it wasn’t because I didn’t get away before but I had to go and make sure my new boyfriend got out of the room before I took off running, which he thought was really sweet that I would risk my life just to make sure he was okay. It’s the stuff gags are made of. Anyway, there was more, but it doesn’t make sense to me and I’m not sure if that’s because it just didn’t make sense or if I can’t remember the part that helps me make sense of it all.
So on to what I wanted to write about.
Being at home makes me realize a couple of things and I don’t know if other people notice this stuff too or if I’m just screwed up. But I have realized that I will be getting older, and I will get wrinkles, I will have to take care of my finances and there won’t always be someone to take care of me. I’ve realized that my parents will die, and even though I don’t think it will be for at least 50 more years (an implausible amount of time I’m sure) it really could be any day, because it doesn’t just have to be their health failing. Bad things happen everyday and who is to say it won’t happen to my parents? Everyone loses their parents, why do I think I’m so damn special? Or me for that matter, I could get a real tumor someday and actually would never know about it because I don’t like doctors. I have also realized that as the band Lit put into lyrical form, I am my own worst enemy. I am self-destructive in every form and area of my life. I am pretty much killing myself but I can’t change, I mean, I can, but it’s going to take more work than I want to bother with right now. I’m not social, and I am hoping that it will change when I move into my new house with three very socially active young ladies. I am in my pajamas by 9 pm unless I had to work later than that and in bed and asleep by midnight. I have completely caught up with “Law and Order SVU” and am now working on “House”. I like a 16 year old for Pete’s sake so if that doesn’t shout self-destructive then I don’t know what does!
Wow, none of that was the point of this chapter. The point was, which will sound random since I digressed, was that being at home I have realized why I fear marriage. It’s my mother. I know, everyone blames their mother for everything because we are a sack of pussies who can’t just place the blame where it really belongs and our number one nurturer through our youth must be the one to blame because if she had just come to my fourth grade play everything would be better. I would be a healthy productive adult instead of a 17 year old in a 23 year-old’s body. But no, I really am over the fourth grade play, I have even talked to her about it in a joking manner and that’s when you know you are over it. I know for a fact that these problems are due to my mother, and she didn’t mean to screw me up. But I am the youngest and apparently that made me the child that my mother told everything to. I became her best friend, the one that she told that she was contemplating leaving my dad if it weren’t for me being so young (she told me this when I was “so young”, probably elementary school). I mean that could scar a child. She still does it though, she complains about my dad to me. She loves my dad, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes it might be best not to tell the children when you are annoyed with the other donating component of their DNA. She tells me all the little things that he does that bug her, you’d think after 30+ years of marriage she would have just learned that that is how he is. He doesn’t always hear what you say, I don’t know if it’s because he didn’t want to hear it or not, but hell, I know that after 23 years, she’s been with him for 36 years, maybe it’s because half of me is him that I can see and forgive this more easily. My mom makes life after marriage seem like something simply to be endured and not enjoyed. Again, I know they love each other, but I don’t see enough of that, I mostly just have my mom’s one side of the story. I have never heard my dad complain about my mom. My fear is not marrying someone like my dad, my fear is becoming someone like my mom. My dad is a great guy, who puts up with her shortcomings, he is probably one of the last guys who can remodel a house by himself (over a long period of time, but seriously, how many guys spend endless Saturdays working on bricking the driveway?). Is it a woman’s fate to become a nagging bitch no matter how good she’s got it? I didn’t just call my mother a bitch by the way, just what women become. Sometimes I feel like women are looking for a type of romance that only truly exist within movies but not in real life and it is tainting the way they see their own marriages and relationships. It is keeping them from really becoming happy. And in turn is keeping me from becoming happy.