Brain Pain: a Saga

I see a pattern emerging. When I’m feeling especially posty it degrades into Brain Pain posts. But I’m living in this state right now. I’m not walking around in black or crying a lot, but I’m well within the text book acceptable grieving state. Even early. It’s only been three and a half months since I lost my mother for good. It seems a lot longer though. The world shifted then. To me, it was an apocalyptic event, yet one that the vast majority of existence didn’t feel.  A spidery grayness encased the hearts of some of us, but otherwise life carried on. Jobs, kids, funny TV shows. Regular shit. And then we committed to this crazy incredible dirt quest thing.

Today I was putting away clothes while Silas was watched Curious George on a mattress on the floor of my room. I felt good, and thought that I may like this closet more than the former one, maybe. Then I purely and immediately thought of calling my mom to tell her about this closet, with real intention. And then, well, that was just a bummer.  So I talked out loud to her with Silas watching me. Then I called my Gramma.

Gramma talked to me for longer than she ever does these days. We talked about my move, my mother-in-law, and my grandparents’ large expensive home repairs.  Of course I want to give them some money to help. And we certainly can. But when I bring it up to Gordon, I fear it will become an issue.

My Gramma talked about Mae and how she’s glad that Gordon is forgiving her (though Gramma is far more obsessed with Mae’s crime than any of the rest of us are) because you “only have one mother”. My reply of “yeah, I know” was small and I wonder if she understood what she had just driven home to me.  She probably did, and then felt bad, and that’s probably why she called back and left a voicemail for me not to worry about their money.  My mom always pegged that pattern of Gramma’s: She says something that makes her feel guilty then calls back to talk about something unrelated as a form of apology.

It’s hard in this family.  For a bunch of non-society-driven folks, there are certainly a lot of rules to die by and ways to fail. Probably why I need to live away from everyone.  I can’t grasp/follow/care about other people’s guidelines for me, yet I seem to place my own definitions and judgments on other people. I hate that. That is what I would like to fix: be compassionate toward others’ ideals and try to understand them without having to fulfill them. Also, don’t expect people to go outside of their own quests to guess/fulfill my ideals. Simply put: live and let live in peace with no guilt or anger.

But now I realize that my wine consumption has been too great for comfort. That’s ok. I’ll probably live. It smells good out here and the crickets and occasional passing cars are incredibly loud.

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Author: Morgan Mill

Thanks for reading!

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