September Surrender: Day 30
What I’m Letting Go: Their Purpose and Ours
My last entry was late. My bad. It was a long day yesterday. Mom was discharged from the hospital and is now home. I didn’t get a chance to nap, so I was extra tired. I’m not complaining. Mom is home where she belongs and is getting the best care out there. But my writing suffered. I was trying to get it out but fell asleep multiple times on the couch. And my dad just wouldn’t. Stop. Talking. He goes on tangents about the state of the world, the commercials they put out, sports, everything. I love him, but sometimes I need to just come up for air, especially when I’m doing another task. I can’t sparse out my energy on writing and affirming his feels, even if I agree with everything he’s saying.
Last night there was…something he was going on about. I can’t even remember. I was fighting sleep and fighting that urge to just give up writing when I exclaimed, “They do this because they want to siphon your energy. They want this reaction from you.” It didn’t necessarily stop him in his tracks, but it did make him think. He told me I was right but it didn’t necessarily deter him. Just like it didn’t stop me from being infuriated upon hearing a sitting Congressman pulled the Cannon Building’s fire alarm today in an attempt to stop vote proceedings on a CR and basically told the media, “My bad.”
They want you mad. They want you furious. They want to take that energy and use it for their own selfish whims. And I’m just not going to let them anymore. As this month comes to a close, I really and truly need to let go of the needless anger, especially when it’s only there to make me mad. There are far better things for me to direct my ire at. None of this is righteous anger. It’s all low-hanging fruit, frankly. We’re governed by assholes who hate our guts. Film at eleven.
What I’ve Discovered: Party Favors
In my sophomore year of college, there was a Halloween frat party at a barn in rural Illinois. We had to take a bus to get there. Me and all my pals dressed up and headed out one silly October Friday night. Sin City had just come out that year, so I went as “a hooker from Old Town.” I had a black beret on, a makeshift bustier, my fencing spandex shorts, fishnets, and heels. I wasn’t sure if anyone would get my costume, but I was more than willing to explain. Only I didn’t actually get that far, and not for the fratty reasons you may think.
We showed up to the barn, a rager of a party going on behind the giant double doors. I was excited, as my favorite frat was hosting, and I needed a weekend to just let loose. But when I arrived, I looked over to the right to see this girl dressed like Dorothy who was clearly too intoxicated to hang. Her legs stuck straight out, her head hanging down. Barely responsive. Just completely trashed. We’ve all been there, though maybe not so on the verge of alcohol poisoning. I walked over without a second thought and went to see if she was alright. She wasn’t. People were standing around her not knowing what to do. So I did the only thing I could: just be there for her. I asked someone to get me a cup of water and got her to drink a little bit. No one could find who brought her here or what group she was with. So I stayed with her until we could figure it out. And all the while people kept asking me if I knew her. I didn’t. I just saw someone in need of help. For about an hour, an Old Town hooker kept making sure Dorothy was well-hydrated.
At one point I got up to use the restroom and came back to find she had left. Her friends eventually found her and they all went home. And by that time, I was ready to do the same. I hitched the next bus home and just went to sleep, not entirely unsatisfied with the night, but feeling like it wasn’t what I set out to do. But it was like instinct kicked in when I saw this girl. I went into full caretaker mode. I did something similar at a house party in Jersey when a girl in the grade below me was having a bit of a booting incident. She kept apologizing to me with her head in the toilet, and my stoned ass just kept cracking jokes, rubbing her back, and telling her it’s okay.
It feels good discovering the mothering instincts I have that I’ve learned to hone over the years. It’s especially important these days, since it takes a great deal of energy to care for my mother. But I’m happy to do it. I don’t give it a second thought. Anything she needs, I’m going to do. Because that’s what you do for someone you love. My mom took care of me, why should I not take care of her? Some people do this full time to veritable strangers. One has to have a heart of gold to do so. I caught a glimpse of that one night for myself, even while dressed like a hooker. That’s got to count for some kind of anti-party foul.
What I Hope to Find: My Crossroads of American Energy
Years ago, two people I used to work with got engaged in Times Square. I’m not revealing any more than that, because I don’t want you to know who they are. And it would be possible to find, too, because their story was all over the news for the next three days. It both annoyed me and made me laugh. Because as soon as I heard the literal news come down, I knew I’d be getting a call from someone else I used to know. This person was in and out of my life for a very long time, and in that point during the timeline was only hitting me up once a month. Sure enough, not three days after the happy couple made it official, I was setting up a meeting with this person. I reveled in what energy I had been putting out in order to draw this person back in, because at that point, I was catching feelings I had never expected to be there.
This went on for years. It ultimately culminated in nothing but me walking out the door. But in a sense, whatever began long ago is still here. It may lay dormant for another thousand years. Who knows. Whatever this is I’m carrying with me remains nestled deep within me. And it would be one of life’s greatest tragedies if I go on forever without the chance to unleash it.
I never know what may happen. Some days my heart feels so full I swear its liable to burst right from my chest. Other days it has ebbed and flowed all the way back into the dark ages. But that vivacity is always on the move. Always on the go. Whatever touched my soul has a place here. And, sorry for sounding bitter, but I don’t need to tell the whole would about it via a Times Square proposal. It’s just not me. I save my vigor for other aspects of relationships.
Thank you for reading me this month. I’ll see you when I see you.