Addendum

To the previous.....but not on the same exact topic. In my head there's a connection, but I don't have the energy to explain.

Sundays.

Since I can remember, Sundays were spent with my family. Lunch wherever, then back to the house to just spend time together. In the past couple of years, those days took a detour. Progressively less time spent at the house with my family. There was still lunch, but even those got fewer and farther between. Now I look back and realize I haven't sat down to a meal with my mother and grandmother in months. Thanksgiving doesn't count.

I could blame the trend on a few things, but in reality it's my fault. See my previous quotable blog about "No One Makes You Do It." I chose other things and people over the family. It used to be the four of us, then daddy was gone, and it was just the three. And it was kind of empty. But we slowly found ways to fill that gap. Not replace him, we never could. Nor would I want to. Daddy, I miss you so much sometimes.

A relationship or physical distance is never an excuse to neglect your family. Ever. Especially if that distance is a tiny 35 miles from Plano to Southeast Dallas. I'd make that drive for friends in a heartbeat. Why then, is it just too much to do it once a week for the people who shaped who I am?

And now, the regret. They can't go out and enjoy lunches anymore. They're mostly confined to the house unless I'm driving and then trying to escort them wherever, praying neither falls. Because if it's not distance, it's my selfishness. It hurts more than I could possibly express to see my mother right now. I almost don't recognize her, and it's hard to find the real person behind the medication and exhaustion. So I avoid it, because it sucks for me. I made life hell for her in my teens, and I still can't get over my ego to be there for her when she needs me like she never has.

I've really been craptastic as a daughter and granddaughter. But I guess there's still time. There's always time. Until there isn't. And that's a regret I could never carry. Tomorrow is Sunday. And I'll be in the ghetto. With two of the most amazing women I've ever known.

This detox is going to kill me.

My Own Personal Jesus

I like to think that I'm unique, maybe a little fucked-off kinda special. But I know that much of my generation probably feels the same way....hell....I'm sure every generation does. This is probably more of a commentary on humanity than anything else.

But.

Today held one of those moments that really focuses on ones own little quirks. For me, music is so much more than background noise for my life. I can't deal with total silence. If I'm doing anything, I need this stuff to sustain my focus. Or break it. Either way.

A number of times in my life, a certain song or album has come along at the perfect time. Any other day, I would've thought "yeah that's pretty good." But at these times, I obsess to a degree that borders on ridiculous. Then, for the rest of what will probably be forever, that stuff is linked to where I was at that time. Mr. Crowley = Michael. Freshmen = Kirsten, Carey, Krissy. Everclear = shithole apartment in the ghetto. Vault = it's good to be young and stupid. Has Anyone Seen my Baby = how could I have ever been so fucking stupid. Meat Loaf = you know you need to get out, now. Etc, etc, etc.

When things affect me to a large degree, meaning when I go through extremes of emotion, I revert into the kid with the headphones in the corner. My music saves me. From others, from myself, from reality, probably from you. Sometimes it's healing. Sometimes it's a sharp little knife that breaks open the scars to see if they still bleed. They do.

Thus, today I find myself sifting through vinyl at Half Price Books for an hour. Looking for what, I don't know. Probably something to make me feel better. Generally, I find an answer. Or some kind of band aid. Not today. Today I find memories by the pound in the form of 12x12 cardboard covers.

The More Things Change

Earlier today, I was passing time in a trivial way with a few not-so-trivial friends. I remember saying something to the effect of, "It's okay to be a heinous bitch, as long as you're hot." While this was just one line in a chorus of sarcasm, I began thinking about the truth and consequences of it.

Later in the day, I saw a friend that I haven't had the chance to hang out with in what seems like forever. He's been through some major stuff in the past year. And, as is the case with many of the people I care most about, I've been a useless friend through most of it. Darin, baby, I'm so proud of you.

In between those two events, I get a call that gives me flashbacks to college, from someone I would have died for at one time. I knew that tone of his voice, that unspoken desperation, and that sinking feeling that there's nothing I can do.

Of course I have a point. Be patient.

How much potential does physical change have to alter one's self? And is time more powerful an agent for change than experience? Or can one memory throw one full force back into old habits, healthy or otherwise? And when does one, after endless trying, throw in the metaphorical towel and give up on another when nothing changes or (even worse) when so many changes result in the unforgiveable?

I don't have the answers, but I can speak to some of it. Perhaps physical transformation doesn't really change a person. I believe that, when the change is positive, the outside finally matches the spirit that's been inside all along. "Baby, you look wonderful. And it's not just your body, it's that glow I haven't seen in you for so long." I know I'm now more comfortable with myself than I've ever been. Whether it's external stuff or experience, I still can't tell.

On the darker side, some things may never change. Addiction, elitism, narcissism, pathology, dishonesty. Maybe some have yet to experience that catalyst which will throw their world into a tailspin and force them to evaluate. Maybe they refuse to adjust. If one is any of the above, no amount of surgery or makeover will change the behavior. It may, however, reveal it.

So, what's the lesson here? I'm not exactly sure. But this I know........It takes a special kind of person to observe life's events and then choose to really improve themselves. It takes immeasurable courage to admit that this part of who one has been for the better part of one's life, is wrong. They blame no one else for where life has taken them, and take active steps to correct the balance.

They are my heroes.