090. nietzche’s eyes.


Life is changing and lovely. Today was wonderful, spending time with loves and being pelted with dime-sized hail. The latter, perhaps not so enjoyable. Soaked to the skin and back aching, but awed at the same time, it was an experience.

My father is angry with me. I had nearly forgotten the feeling – these days, we fight rarely, although this was not always the case. Trust this to be the first day Mimi returns to the house, when he is angry and I am frustrated. It stirred memories, for we were always the ones who comforted each other when we pissed off the parents. I had forgotten. The frequent stress-fights, the strange outbursts over small things, all of these disappeared this year. With Mimi in boarding school and mom in her own house, anything stressful with them had a certain distance.

My father is angry because he feels I am not studying enough. Both a valid and a strange fear. It feels strange for him to worry about my grades – as long as I was passing, I didn’t elicit much attention. Now, however, is the time colleges look at. Time for me to shape up.

I have been neglecting this search. I need to find a college far far from here. I don’t know what I’ll be doing with my life. Probably get some entry-level desk job and be a mindless corporate slave. I have no significant talents, nor any passions. I intend to drift through life. My writing is amateur at best. My voice, though pretty enough, holds no potential in a career. I am not someone who could make their life by speaking or modeling, and I have no talents onstage. I could not teach. I doubt I am savvy enough to run a business. In short, dunno what to go to college for.

Tomorrow, a few friends are coming and chilling, the last girl’s night before I leave. I also have an exam come the following day. His anger is legit, I suppose. Yet this is my last chance to say goodbye, thanks for all the armadillo-dogs. They graduate. I leave.

It has been an amazing few days. Friday, I went to the local fair with a few older friends, graduated and graduating, playing on the carousel and sampling (of all the disgusting things) deep fried oreos. A friend slept over, and we watched Totoro and Benny and Joon. We laughed and crashed, woke up and she helped me get ready for a wedding. The wedding was beautiful. I then went to my friends house (the same friend mentioned in the scary-police-thing). She let the bastard back. I should have guessed, and not hoped. I left early in the morning, and she came with me. We said happy Father’s day to my dad, and she told me the reason she left was that she didn’t want to be in the same house as her step-father. I could understand. The friend who slept over on Friday dropped off a pumpkin pie she made for my dad, as a present. She is a dear. And we ate and laughed. I was scolded and nagged. I cleaned the dishes. we said goodnight. And now we’re back to today.

I will miss you all so much. I will love camp, of course, yet. Part of me is hollow. I drew hearts and flowers with nail polish, and I grin and think of you.

I may not be anything, anyone in particular, but I am loved by many and love them in return. That’s all I really want out of life. Everything else is a means to an end. I wish that he’d see how no matter what, I am clever enough to survive and live happily. I will go to college, make no mistake. I have a backup that is pretty much guaranteed to accept me. Yet, I want to be further away, live more for me. I am aging and maturing, however slow the process.

In my father’s own words, “I love you very much and want the best for you”. This is eternally forever never-gonna-change true. It doesn’t mean we aren’t going to be human, it doesn’t require perfection. I want my sister to remember that moreso than I, because this is what I want her to remember. Not the squabbles over religion and living arrangements, homework and late nights. I want her to remember icecream and laughter, love and terrible accents from every corner of the globe.


3 Responses to “090. nietzche’s eyes.”

  1. 1 katling

    Right, first things first, since this hit my eyes first: DEAR GODS LADY, YOU CAN WRITE! I’ve read your work, I’ve seen you write and YOU CAN!

    *makes grinding sound in the back of her throat*

    All I can suggest is go to a liberal Arts College, and submit one or two of your stories into the application. Heck, apply to Goucher! They’d love you there! I just visited there again and if they can put up with me, they’ll adore you! You can think whatever you’d like about yourself, I can’t change that, but YOU CAN WRITE. Don’t you DARE say you can’t.

    On a humorous note, then you’ll sound like me and that would be a horror :)

    Hugs in difficult times Pippage. *hugs*

  2. 2 raalla

    Don’t worry, Pip.
    About what your sister will remember: she -will- remember the good and the bad, but it will be the good that sticks out, not the bad. The bad fades with time and can be brought back but for most people, even if it is more common, the good is what they remember.
    About not-knowing-what-to-do-with-your-life: I don’t think most people do. I think some people have lots of lofty dreams, or just one, or some idea of who they will be set in their heads by their parents or teachers, but I don’t think those are the things that happen. I think you will figure out who you are and what you should do just by going to college, and picking something, and doing it, and changing your life until it feels right. Because it doesn’t end, you know? It just keeps going. You’ve got time.

  3. 3 vividaudio

    You finally watched Benny and June? Wow. I did NOT see that coming.

    Part of me really wants to be a drifter too. But I suck so bad at being spontaneous, even though I wish I was, and I don’t think I’d be able to pull myself off the beaten path. I want to be far away from Corning, too, but goddammit, my anxiety is so restrictive. I need to find a way to deal with it before I continue.

    When it comes to your future, I see/imagine so much. I just know that no matter what you do, it will have this driving force of beauty. Maybe you’ll move to Ireland and be a freelance writer or artist, or move to Santa Fe and be a psychologist. Or maybe work at 171? Whatever you do, there is no grey in my imagination…I think of your future and see swirly, earthy, bright colors. I know you’ll die a hippy happy woman.

    And fyi, the beauty and sensuality of your writing is completely overwhelming. Everything you will ever write will be brilliant.

    My dear, we miss you just as much here as you miss us. Even though we disagree about a lot of things, including certain people, you’ve acted as a calming force and a medium between myself and the others. Actually, I was just telling Trevor this because I was feeling a bit iffy, and a lot of things came up. I told him that I love you dearly, but honestly, I feel a bit forgotten. How come you never told me about this get together before you left? On Facebook, you have all of these (recent) photo albums of parties at your house with the Masterworks crew that I never heard a word about, that I would have loved to go to, and even though you’ve reassured me before, it keeps happening and I wonder if you purposefully didn’t invite me because you didn’t want me there, or even worse, you keep forgetting about me, all the time. I guess I get jealous because I feel like your giving more attention to these people who generally dislike me (Bronson told me what they had said about me at lunch was “I wish she’d just go away”) and I’m kind of forgotten and left behind.

    But I’m always an emotional insecure wreck, so I definitely could be wrong, but it really does hurt…

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