the odd child
Jul. 14th, 2002 03:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeI took the Great White Beast (my mother's car) to Delaware this afternoon with the Engineer on a tobacco run. Amazingly enough, this was the first time I've ever driven to that location on my own.
And I must say, that I quite enjoyed it. The area which I had to drive through to get there was extremely lovely. Something which I'd never really noticed before, as when I go with my mother I usually have my nose in a book the entire drive down.
But, there were trees and grass and oh, such a blue sky it made my heart hurt to look at it. Windows down and my newest mixed CD playing ('happy in a teapot' is the name which I gave it).
It was...the countryside. I am still in awe of it. Mostly because it reminded me of places which I'd flown to before. And also because it's so very rare these days that I get out of the apartment for such a stretch of daylight, that I was beginning to wonder what it looked like. At least this summer I won't have to worry much about accidential tan lines.
The evening was spent kicking the ass out of Diablo 2, going to the cinema to see Halloween: Resurrection (ha! ha!), and hitting the diner with the Engineer and the Priest They Called Him (who calls me his Peaches).
The Priest and I discussed mirrors, because we were seated next to a wall of them. And how uncomfortable they made him and how, despite the fact I am also uncomfortable around them, my actions bring to mind that of a parakeet who continually has to look sidelong at the other birdie.
I am driven to look into a mirror, despite the fact that I don't much care for what I see looking back at me. Especially these days, when I do nothing but feel loathing and horror for the girl I see.
It's beautiful out, this evening. Or rather, this morning. Since it is the wee hours. A light rain fell and I want nothing more than to go running through it, sweater off, to feel the air on my skin. It reminds me of my childhood, of spending time outside long past when I should have come in. The area which I lived in was fairly rural, in those days. The days when I was very young. And there was all manner of woods surrounding the house which I lived in.
Woods with creaks and streams and catfish to be caught with your bare hands and snakes to be hunted. I wasn't much of a girly girl then, as I am now. And I was forever coming home scratched up and covered in lord-knows-what. But, I can remember the breezy summer nights when my mother and her friends would sit in our driveway with their cigarettes and drinks. Those nights, I was allowed outside past my curfew. And despite the fact that my friends were also outside, I usually spent that time on my own. Running about with my face lifted to the sky or just lying in the grass, letting the crickets crawl on my arms and hands. And when my mother would call my name for the final time, I would come running back. Into her arms, to be put to bed.
She'd brush the tangles out of my hair (for it was quite long and very blonde then, if you can imagine that), laugh at the stories I'd tell her, and put me to bed.
And the dreams I had. Dreams of the life that I was to live and the events which would take place. I never would have fathomed the life which I live now. Especially not with recent situations taking place. I'd lie in bed, wide awake for hours, and dream awakedreams. Talk to people who weren't in the room and piece together new stories for them.
An odd child, that was me.
Not much has changed, in that regard. I still lay awake for hours talking to people who aren't in the room and piecing together new stories. But, now it's me putting my mother to bed (or rather, staying awake until she feels asleep just so I know nothing is currently paining her).
I still tell her stories, when we go for her short walks. And she still laughs. The other night, an absolutely gorgeous night, I told her how I won't let the fireflies that become trapped in the car leave until I'm back home because I'm afraid I might be taking them away from their little buggy familes.
This Friday passed was our appointment with the oncologist, which went rather well. They don't want to begin chemotherapy just yet, because she is still so knocked back from the surgeries she went through. Perhaps in four weeks. Luckily, we have time on our side in this respect. But, when she asked when she could return to work the doctor informed her that she could very well stay on disability for another six months and not be trifled with. That it was more than understandable for her to stay on disability throughout the treatments, if she so choose. And that, if she wanted, she would even be within her rights to go permenantly on disability.
They run around the actual answers to her questions, I can recognise this. He means that the treatments are not 100% reliable and that it is perfectly normal for the cancer to come back. And in a not so treatable place. Many people beat this type of cancer, but not all of them. Many of them have reoccurrances, and in harder to treat places.
It gave me such fear, to hear this translation in my head. I stayed quiet and didn't say anything to her about it. But, I know she also caught the translation. The true meaning of his words.
She keeps a better head about things then I do, I would reckon. At least, outwardly she does. But, I'm not ready for the time when I have to brush the tangles out of her hair and put her to bed. She's far too young and I'm just not ready for it.
And I must say, that I quite enjoyed it. The area which I had to drive through to get there was extremely lovely. Something which I'd never really noticed before, as when I go with my mother I usually have my nose in a book the entire drive down.
But, there were trees and grass and oh, such a blue sky it made my heart hurt to look at it. Windows down and my newest mixed CD playing ('happy in a teapot' is the name which I gave it).
It was...the countryside. I am still in awe of it. Mostly because it reminded me of places which I'd flown to before. And also because it's so very rare these days that I get out of the apartment for such a stretch of daylight, that I was beginning to wonder what it looked like. At least this summer I won't have to worry much about accidential tan lines.
The evening was spent kicking the ass out of Diablo 2, going to the cinema to see Halloween: Resurrection (ha! ha!), and hitting the diner with the Engineer and the Priest They Called Him (who calls me his Peaches).
The Priest and I discussed mirrors, because we were seated next to a wall of them. And how uncomfortable they made him and how, despite the fact I am also uncomfortable around them, my actions bring to mind that of a parakeet who continually has to look sidelong at the other birdie.
I am driven to look into a mirror, despite the fact that I don't much care for what I see looking back at me. Especially these days, when I do nothing but feel loathing and horror for the girl I see.
It's beautiful out, this evening. Or rather, this morning. Since it is the wee hours. A light rain fell and I want nothing more than to go running through it, sweater off, to feel the air on my skin. It reminds me of my childhood, of spending time outside long past when I should have come in. The area which I lived in was fairly rural, in those days. The days when I was very young. And there was all manner of woods surrounding the house which I lived in.
Woods with creaks and streams and catfish to be caught with your bare hands and snakes to be hunted. I wasn't much of a girly girl then, as I am now. And I was forever coming home scratched up and covered in lord-knows-what. But, I can remember the breezy summer nights when my mother and her friends would sit in our driveway with their cigarettes and drinks. Those nights, I was allowed outside past my curfew. And despite the fact that my friends were also outside, I usually spent that time on my own. Running about with my face lifted to the sky or just lying in the grass, letting the crickets crawl on my arms and hands. And when my mother would call my name for the final time, I would come running back. Into her arms, to be put to bed.
She'd brush the tangles out of my hair (for it was quite long and very blonde then, if you can imagine that), laugh at the stories I'd tell her, and put me to bed.
And the dreams I had. Dreams of the life that I was to live and the events which would take place. I never would have fathomed the life which I live now. Especially not with recent situations taking place. I'd lie in bed, wide awake for hours, and dream awakedreams. Talk to people who weren't in the room and piece together new stories for them.
An odd child, that was me.
Not much has changed, in that regard. I still lay awake for hours talking to people who aren't in the room and piecing together new stories. But, now it's me putting my mother to bed (or rather, staying awake until she feels asleep just so I know nothing is currently paining her).
I still tell her stories, when we go for her short walks. And she still laughs. The other night, an absolutely gorgeous night, I told her how I won't let the fireflies that become trapped in the car leave until I'm back home because I'm afraid I might be taking them away from their little buggy familes.
This Friday passed was our appointment with the oncologist, which went rather well. They don't want to begin chemotherapy just yet, because she is still so knocked back from the surgeries she went through. Perhaps in four weeks. Luckily, we have time on our side in this respect. But, when she asked when she could return to work the doctor informed her that she could very well stay on disability for another six months and not be trifled with. That it was more than understandable for her to stay on disability throughout the treatments, if she so choose. And that, if she wanted, she would even be within her rights to go permenantly on disability.
They run around the actual answers to her questions, I can recognise this. He means that the treatments are not 100% reliable and that it is perfectly normal for the cancer to come back. And in a not so treatable place. Many people beat this type of cancer, but not all of them. Many of them have reoccurrances, and in harder to treat places.
It gave me such fear, to hear this translation in my head. I stayed quiet and didn't say anything to her about it. But, I know she also caught the translation. The true meaning of his words.
She keeps a better head about things then I do, I would reckon. At least, outwardly she does. But, I'm not ready for the time when I have to brush the tangles out of her hair and put her to bed. She's far too young and I'm just not ready for it.
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Date: 2002-07-14 02:26 am (UTC)