I find myself more fluent in French than I was after two years of "study", in my teens. Languages are easier than math. You don't have to think -- just do it. You don't understand my meaning, but have you ever?
Thanksgiving is imminent. I will do nothing. My urge to isolation is increasing. I wonder if I'm giving up. I had a disturbing insight into myself the other day. I'm not going to share it. But it does not bode well for a happy future.
Likewise, this time of year obligates one to consider one's previous family. You know, birth family. My father's birthday is in a few days. I can't fathom why I am so repulsed by the thought of sustained contact. I thought earlier today that all he wants is pity, and he got all he's going to get from me when I was a child. Doesn't that seem pathetic? A child obligated to pity his parents? Burned that gland out. Only it didn't.
It's hard to forgive someone his weakness, when he pretended to be so strong. I believed the lessons of my childhood, about how a man should be. That's how I am. Unyielding. Well, I'll get the forgiveness I'll give. Which seems not to be too much, where it counts.
It's easy to be all weepy about puppies and orphans. But they don't need forgiveness. My idiot father does. I do. Forgiven of my unforgiveness.
Every correction he ever gave, was harsh. Every time I change the radio station I remember him snarling at me when I was, oh, ten, that it wasn't a "channel," it was a "station". Why so violent? Now, around him, I try to keep my mouth shut, lest his voice come out of my head, so angry, aimed at him, old now, and feeble, and pathetic.
I just can't forget. Betrayals like a pursuing pack of wolves, I flee, I howl, useless and self-consuming.
How did you last, without me?