78uuu lumière des étoiles

Dusty:Starlight:Culture



because it just came out this way, because i want some recognition
2004-06-08   11:29 p.m.

Dear Dad,

Well I never made the cheerleading squad. In fact, I never tried out. And I'm sorry I've stopped playing the piano and that I've never picked up that bass. I still listen to all the Mingus records you gave me. I just can't give them up.

I teach college now. They let me do anything I want, but hold little sticks with carrots out in front of me that usually lead me down long, dark, and confusing mazes. When I complain, everyone reminds me how young I am, as if that offers some kind of explanation as to why I get frustrated or feel exploited. I suppose I'm to take comfort in the idea that at 26, I'm seen as an anomaly on the faculty. Maybe by trying to make me feel like a paragon, they think I won't notice that they're contemptible sometimes. I complain and think more and more like the socialists I'm surrounded by every day in all their disgruntled glory, but I revel in my position and feel extremely privileged to have it. I feel respected every day. I feel intelligent every day. I adore the people I work with. I feel what I do can make a difference.

I leave my job and the world far, far behind as much as I can. I've been in 13 different countries so far. This time I'm going to four more. Like a big girl, at 19 I went to England all by myself, with no one I knew, to take classes one winter. I made friends, but you know me; I didn't like them much because some of them were mean and kind of shallow. I was polite to them and tried to smile a lot. I finally found some nicer people, but I mostly did things by myself. I realized then that I'm not as stupid as I felt in high school, and that I can take care of myself very well. I've been to Africa twice, and I'm going again. The fam have heart attacks every time, but I know you'd be secretly happy. Africa taught me a lot of things, but mostly humility, and how not to feel sorry for myself all the time. In Europe, I liked Greece best, or maybe Spain. You always said Spain was beautiful.

Sorry you went out like that, so fast, tired, and cold. I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it. Or maybe I'm not. You see, I seem to struggle with closure and indecisiveness about whether or not I've found "closure" in other relationships now. I think maybe it's because no matter what I can never, ever have that with you. Some days I feel pathetic and weak because I cry and cry and cry that you're not here. Even though ten years have passed, I get angry like a child, I scream that it's not fair. You're gone, you've missed so many things. I want someone to take the blame for that, but there is no one to take it, no one to hate, so I just cry.

So is it time to move on? I'll always be a little sad. That's not a stance; maybe it's a personality disorder. I'll always care less about silly things like how mad I get at people I love because deep down I fear they'll die and I'll never get to apologize for being so angry. Sometimes when Steve is late coming home from work or I can't find Dave, horrible things run through my head. I hope someday that stops.

There's total chaos and insanity here some days. Music is in a sorry state, and I'm literally terrified of the president and his administration. It's like nothing you ever could have imagined. I do what I can to combat that, though, and I've even joined my local AAUP, a union for college faculty. You'd be proud of me for doing that.

Thanks for things I know you've sent, things that seemed to happen in odd ways. Thanks for the scholarships, the jobs, the trip to Ireland with mom. She needed it more than I did. Thanks for that clearing the day of the wedding - it was a blast. Most of all, thanks for Steve. I know I couldn't have found him all by myself. He's absolutely perfect for me because he's flawed too. Rugged, travel-worn, and a little sarcastic, he's more than I could ever have imagined for myself.

I love you.