impermalinks

i was home for four days in april. returning to this uncomfortable comfort-zone of television and tall ceilings. spring in montana is still winter, so sleeping outside was out of the question, i flung my restless body to sleep on the window seat by the baby grand, my room upstairs too nostalgic to bear. "the house is haunted", i would swear, conducting late night seances in the basement, fabricating dream-laced riddles about who and what was here before us. but a space is only what we make of it, our dances making circles in the dirt. mine was made in the cluttered middle room of the second floor, sandwiched in between older sister and brother. mom has since painted over, redone, hanging a giant painting of me across from the cream bed frame. tucked the majority of my stuff away from guest-eyes, i guess her eyes. everything is in tones of cream, beige and yellow. the colors remind me of white people throwing up. at least now, and always, the rainbow of colors and textures which are my things have risen up against this bland structure. always, i have considered myself a rebel, but in fact it becomes clearer with age that i am wrong. wrong. way off.

i cant only blame myself for these surroundings. family systems theory stuff is rearing its head as i automatically revert into old fucked up patterns that suck days dry of actual creativity and progress. so fucking self-indulgent. but we're all so self-involved around here... so self-fulfilling of our prophecies and dad with his terrible attitude and me with my terrible attitude and good god its like they want me to succeed but the version of success they have is impossibly foreign from mine. enabled becomes the enabler. ew.

we all see how fucked up each other is but no one says anything ... except for me. i always talk too much and so am written off immediately by dad, mom bro. a chain reaction. the chains of reactions! its like we talk about nonsense, just nonsense, all the time and meanwhile these feelings just keep festering and i want to stab about 3 different men in the eyes and i know that is not ok and of course i never would but this kind of anxiety is really bad for my health and my relations with the relations. i see my father's skeptic pessimism and raise him an existential wrinkle in the brow. he reminds me of my debts and doesnt see me pay. he calls the shots and she aims. before, four days was just enough. i'm one week in and killing time and my body wants out already.

i just feel like such a piece of shit and being back 'home' again is hella depressing.
my parents enforce nothing so i do nothing and trap myself inside watching so much battlestar and hating my brother who has been doing the same for 4 years here. i'm super late for my period and all this energy is building up. thank the gods there are puppies.