I feel so... disconnected, today. Adrift.
I miss Joe. I just saw him a few days ago, yes, but I miss him at work... it's still taking some getting used to, 'cause I keep hearing footsteps and looking up with that little twinge of anticipation, is it him?, even though I know it isn't. I'm not sad that he quit, 'cause he needed to and it'll be best for both of us. But still, I've seen less of him this week.
What's harder is that he's out of town right now, many miles away, gone with his parents to visit his family. That's not really the problem, though -- I mean, he hasn't seen his family in forever, of course he should go see them. I'd like to go with him, if I could, meet more of his family, but I can't, 'cause I have to work Saturdays.
It's not that he's out of town, though it makes me a little sad, of course, knowing that he's so far away right now. It's that he's with his family. And not that, really. It's that he's with his family, and I'm with nobody. I mean, here I sit, alone. My parents are here, and I'll see them tomorrow... but they're caught up in bickering lately over this new car, which they got today.
That's another thing. They've settled on a car for a good long time, and it's a two-seater, a two-seater without a four-seater backup car. This means we apparently won't be going on any family trips ever again.
I mean, it's not like we go on a lot of family trips. Maybe going out to dinner together on our birthdays, that's three times a year. And we sometimes go out to visit the family, maybe once or twice a year. It's not often, but still. That's the big thing. We hardly ever get to see the family in the first place. Now, we'll never go out together to see them ever again, 'cause we can't. We probably won't see them together until one of them dies, and then, I'll have to drive out there alone in my car, following them in their two-seater. No more listening to the walkman in the back seat. No more dozing off on the way, waking up and peering out the window at the cows, the Mohawk, the Beech-Nut factory, the rainbow-painted barn or the odd white tile of the ramps at Utica.
Like I said, it's not that Joe's visiting family. It's that he's visiting family, and I can't visit mine. I don't even know where they live -- I know the towns, but I don't know how to get to their houses. Nor do I know how to find any of the dead relatives, which we used to go visit once a year, planting flowers and taking care of the headstones. I've cherished those trips, 'cause I don't have grandparents -- all I have is stones, three headstones marking where they were laid before I was born. When we go there, I feel closer to them. I don't really believe in Heaven, that sort of thing, but I like to think that when we go there, I'm a little closer to them, like maybe when I'm standing over my grandparents' graves, some part of their spirit knows it, knows I'm there and sees me, their baby child's baby child, all grown up without them. Despite my requests, my parents have never written down directions to the cemeteries. Only one of them is marked with a name, so I can't even look them up online -- they're all in tiny little hamlets anyway, little nothing places out in the middle of nowhere. Thank goodness I took pictures of them all last year when we went out, 'cause with that two-seater car and no directions, I may never see them again. The graves will all end up dirty and overgrown and neglected, because nobody ever visits them. As it is, nobody visits my dad's side's stone except us, and hardly anyone visits my mom's side's stones, just my two aunts, who seem to be tapering off on their visits.
I wish I had more family. I wish they were closer. I cling tightly to the precious little bits of family I get, those once or twice a year visits to family living or dead, but now, it looks as if those will be taken from me. I just feel so isolated right now, so alone, cut off.
I miss Joe. I just saw him a few days ago, yes, but I miss him at work... it's still taking some getting used to, 'cause I keep hearing footsteps and looking up with that little twinge of anticipation, is it him?, even though I know it isn't. I'm not sad that he quit, 'cause he needed to and it'll be best for both of us. But still, I've seen less of him this week.
What's harder is that he's out of town right now, many miles away, gone with his parents to visit his family. That's not really the problem, though -- I mean, he hasn't seen his family in forever, of course he should go see them. I'd like to go with him, if I could, meet more of his family, but I can't, 'cause I have to work Saturdays.
It's not that he's out of town, though it makes me a little sad, of course, knowing that he's so far away right now. It's that he's with his family. And not that, really. It's that he's with his family, and I'm with nobody. I mean, here I sit, alone. My parents are here, and I'll see them tomorrow... but they're caught up in bickering lately over this new car, which they got today.
That's another thing. They've settled on a car for a good long time, and it's a two-seater, a two-seater without a four-seater backup car. This means we apparently won't be going on any family trips ever again.
I mean, it's not like we go on a lot of family trips. Maybe going out to dinner together on our birthdays, that's three times a year. And we sometimes go out to visit the family, maybe once or twice a year. It's not often, but still. That's the big thing. We hardly ever get to see the family in the first place. Now, we'll never go out together to see them ever again, 'cause we can't. We probably won't see them together until one of them dies, and then, I'll have to drive out there alone in my car, following them in their two-seater. No more listening to the walkman in the back seat. No more dozing off on the way, waking up and peering out the window at the cows, the Mohawk, the Beech-Nut factory, the rainbow-painted barn or the odd white tile of the ramps at Utica.
Like I said, it's not that Joe's visiting family. It's that he's visiting family, and I can't visit mine. I don't even know where they live -- I know the towns, but I don't know how to get to their houses. Nor do I know how to find any of the dead relatives, which we used to go visit once a year, planting flowers and taking care of the headstones. I've cherished those trips, 'cause I don't have grandparents -- all I have is stones, three headstones marking where they were laid before I was born. When we go there, I feel closer to them. I don't really believe in Heaven, that sort of thing, but I like to think that when we go there, I'm a little closer to them, like maybe when I'm standing over my grandparents' graves, some part of their spirit knows it, knows I'm there and sees me, their baby child's baby child, all grown up without them. Despite my requests, my parents have never written down directions to the cemeteries. Only one of them is marked with a name, so I can't even look them up online -- they're all in tiny little hamlets anyway, little nothing places out in the middle of nowhere. Thank goodness I took pictures of them all last year when we went out, 'cause with that two-seater car and no directions, I may never see them again. The graves will all end up dirty and overgrown and neglected, because nobody ever visits them. As it is, nobody visits my dad's side's stone except us, and hardly anyone visits my mom's side's stones, just my two aunts, who seem to be tapering off on their visits.
I wish I had more family. I wish they were closer. I cling tightly to the precious little bits of family I get, those once or twice a year visits to family living or dead, but now, it looks as if those will be taken from me. I just feel so isolated right now, so alone, cut off.
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