Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Kidult

I don't know what to do with myself. I feel so weak. I keep thinking to myself that I need to work out but I just can't gather the energy to do so.

I started reading Hunter S Thompson's The Rum Diary. A few pages in and I found myself drifting off. I woke up an hour later. Natalie had fallen asleep next to me. We are all exhausted.

I've been drowning myself in video games; Halo anniversary edition.

I barely held it together at dinner tonight. McMenamin's has a decent veggie burger. Ciera, David, and I went there this summer. David and Ciera ordered AMFs and we stumbled home. It was tons of fun to hang out in a bar; be an adult. And we came home; checked in on Mama, said our good nights to her. We turned out all the lights, locked the doors. We went to bed; comfortable and assured of her presence.

Kerry the cat doesn't go into Mama's room anymore. I try to pet her as much as possible. She seems to need the love. The squirrel and the neighborhood cats came to the door today as always; tapped on the window for some food. So many things relied on Mama and she never—we never really knew it.

I keep looking at my phone; I want to text or call my friends. Let them know I'm not dead and that I would love to hear their voices. But I don't know how to call them. What do I say? How do I talk to them? I don't want to talk about Mama, but I do. I really just want them to be here. A comforting hug and a moment away from the pain.

We all carry pain. Some people on the surface; others further below. I sat with Olivia outside her dorm while we talked about the events that have unfolded. She was there at the moment Mama left; holding her hand and being a trooper. She called me; was the first to tell me.

We are all still hurting. Olivia is putting together pictures of Mama. In the mix are tons of pictures of my childhood. It made me reflect. Adults are children. We are children trying to do the best we can. One day we wake up; kids with gray hair and wrinkles. And we have children of our own—no longer playing house. And we are forced to deal with adult themes and adult things and told to be big adults. But we are scared kids; out of control; unsure of our identities; looking for someone's approval and guidance. We are kids. And we try not to act like it.

I try not to think that we are silly kids in over-sized outfits; it makes the most authoritative of us look silly.

I miss the kid that so wonderfully guided me through my early years; never made me feel childish and never told me to be an adult.