and you're probably not what you seem.
and so it seems that these blogs are just reflections into my childhood, which is okay because my childhood was, for the first word that comes to mind, solid. yeah, sure, bruises and bangs and boxes and moving and fights and bullshit later, but it was all solid, and i've become a decent person from it. or at least i'd like to think so.
--
and when i listen to this song, i see myself. once again, i'm serious when i say i remember things and people as shades of light. and when i want to remember my dad in the best light, i either see a soft glow from a dusty table lamp, a lamp that was never clean because he was always cutting up walls, replacing windows, doing something destructive/constructive around the house. or i see the sunshine. as in bright, merciless sunshine that surrounds you inescapably, as though it permeates through every gap in the leaves on the trees, or ducks underneath the awning of a porch swing. but in my memories i feel no heat. maybe a cool breeze from the days when he taught me to fly a kite.
but more specifically, i think of that dusty lamp. this was before he had ripped out the carpets in the living room, because i knew those were there when derek was around. and this was before derek and diane. before i told him how much i hated them, enough to leave him out of my life forever. i wrote that letter and i gave it to him and packed all of my stuff and told my sister and told my mom and he drove me home the next morning.
most specifically i packed a stupid little blanket and i could not let it go. where it is now, i am sure it has been destroyed by the many dogs that my father has had since he has met diane. but this blanket, it was white and ripped to shreds on the inside, maybe three feet wide. the outside was this goofy very light tan colour, with little fleur de lis in brown scattered in a pattern across it.
i'm pretty sure it used to be a fairly large comforter that belonged on a bed in my grandma's old house. and i think she just cut it in half and sewed it shut. i had one for momma's and one for dad's. and i got rid of the one at momma's years before this, but the one at dad's stayed until i was about eleven.
i have lost interest in this. i might pick it up later, but honestly, we both know i won't.
and so it seems that these blogs are just reflections into my childhood, which is okay because my childhood was, for the first word that comes to mind, solid. yeah, sure, bruises and bangs and boxes and moving and fights and bullshit later, but it was all solid, and i've become a decent person from it. or at least i'd like to think so.
--
and when i listen to this song, i see myself. once again, i'm serious when i say i remember things and people as shades of light. and when i want to remember my dad in the best light, i either see a soft glow from a dusty table lamp, a lamp that was never clean because he was always cutting up walls, replacing windows, doing something destructive/constructive around the house. or i see the sunshine. as in bright, merciless sunshine that surrounds you inescapably, as though it permeates through every gap in the leaves on the trees, or ducks underneath the awning of a porch swing. but in my memories i feel no heat. maybe a cool breeze from the days when he taught me to fly a kite.
but more specifically, i think of that dusty lamp. this was before he had ripped out the carpets in the living room, because i knew those were there when derek was around. and this was before derek and diane. before i told him how much i hated them, enough to leave him out of my life forever. i wrote that letter and i gave it to him and packed all of my stuff and told my sister and told my mom and he drove me home the next morning.
most specifically i packed a stupid little blanket and i could not let it go. where it is now, i am sure it has been destroyed by the many dogs that my father has had since he has met diane. but this blanket, it was white and ripped to shreds on the inside, maybe three feet wide. the outside was this goofy very light tan colour, with little fleur de lis in brown scattered in a pattern across it.
i'm pretty sure it used to be a fairly large comforter that belonged on a bed in my grandma's old house. and i think she just cut it in half and sewed it shut. i had one for momma's and one for dad's. and i got rid of the one at momma's years before this, but the one at dad's stayed until i was about eleven.
i have lost interest in this. i might pick it up later, but honestly, we both know i won't.
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