My Vein, My Blood – 4


What if none of this matters?  I mean really.  Does anyone really care?  Aren’t we always holding back a part of ourselves because we don’t want to destroy the illusions others have of U?  Then it’s like if they knew who we really were they’d feel they didn’t know us at all and it’s all an illusion anyway.  No one wants to be that vulnerable.  I hold back all the time.  Who can I be weak and needy with?  I’m the strong one.  I have it all together.  I can’t be the discouraged, messed up, needy one.  And who gives a shit anyway?  Life will go on without me.  What do any of us really do?  Who really cares?  It all seems like a grand exercise in futility.  Maybe D’s right not to care.  It’s all quite pointless.  Uptown Girls was a depressing movie.  On top of writing about my hero’s search for meaning in his life.


I didn’t get to finish that thought because B appeared and I had to stop crying.  I was happy last night to see all those kids gathered at my house.  I think back a year ago and think D has really made the most of the opportunity she was given.  It’s pretty amazing.  Imagine her on 1-10-2003 laughing and talking, having a sleepover.  Not the same even when one of her friends spent the night later in the year.  I think life has a way of evening everything out, so there’s always balance or there can be if we make the choices we should.  No on has it all bad or all good even though it seems that way. You get it good or bad for awhile and then it switches and things go the other way.


Part of my exhaustion is just being overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed but also uninterested in certain aspects of housekeeping.  Some things I don’t mind doing and some I abhor.  The thing is there’s just so much that needs to be done, inside and out.  It’s time.  It’s priorities.  I’d rather write.  But my personal space bugs me.  Should I hire help?  D and D don’t want to help even if I pay them $10 an hour.  But there must be some willing kid out there who’d like to make some extra money.  I’ll ask the two of them if they know of anyone.  Hell, they can’t even keep their own rooms clean.  But if I considered it exercise—for myself—maybe that would make it more palatable to me.  This property is partly my responsibility.  And sometimes you just have to make yourself do things you don’t particularly want to do.  And then you just have to let go knowing you can’t do everything.