I haven’t written in awhile -- between bouts of depression
, heavy workload
and general apathy
, I just haven’t been up to it.
The past few weeks have been insane. My mother used me as a scapegoat to cut off ties with my grandfather, whose post-stroke financial affairs she was a managing. As a result, my grandfather has been harassing me with four or five voicemail messages a day, demanding that I explain myself. I could end it all by telling him the truth -- that I hate him as much as my mom does, that I only spent time with him out of guilt and pity, and that I told my mother he was talking about her behind her back because I thought she should know what he was saying -- but I just don’t have it in me for any kind of confrontation. I just wish I could answer my phone.
This comes at an opportune time, however, because now I am able to get out of having to go to my grandfather’s baptism. Prone to episodes of great drama, his rebaptism is just another way of trying to drawn an audience -- in this case, since I am the only relative on speaking terms (recently, anyway), I must bear the burden of the production. Since his stroke, these acts of melodrama have taken on greater urgency, and he becomes creepier and creepier as his emotional vampirism takes on ravenous proportions. A visit with him involves sitting in his living room, listening to him rave for hours about how terrible the world is, and any time a visitor tries to interject their own opinions into the conversation, he either ignores them or disagrees with them.
Just the thought of him makes me feel nauseous.
This isn’t to say the past few weeks have been all bad -- on the contrary, some good things have happened. For one, the coffee table book I edited for work, which took up some six months of my life, is done and looks fantastic. I’ve only found one editing mistake, which is pretty damn good if I don’t say so myself. Not bad for a first shot at editing a book -- now, I’ll just hope it’s not my last.
Also, I received an out-of-the-blue email from an old friend from college, which lead to another email from a second college friend -- both whom I never thought I’d ever speak to again. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of getting in touch long lost friends -- it’s like real magic happening in the world, lending credence to the idea that anything can happen. Anything at all.
I’m going to see them over Memorial Day weekend -- I’m a little nervous. When they last knew me, I was this crazy 18-year-old kid filled with self-loathing and anger and selfishness, and all those terrible things teenagers can be. Now I’m 28, more circumspect, more together. I’m curious to see how they’ve changed. When I last knew them, I looked up to them as mentors -- people who were older, more experienced and wiser than I was. It will be interesting to see them as an adult.
If only I could find some way to get out of this ugly business with my grandfather ...
I just want to say that Interpol’s “Turn on the Bright Lights” makes me feel just like Donnie Darko.