Metamorphosis
Jun. 28th, 2002 06:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vianegativaI need to begin this by saying that I've never been a believer in rapid, fundamental change for myself, at least not on a personal level. Everyone else may find fortune, be promoted or dismissed from a job, or exchange lovers in our endless bear waltz, but I have been as constant as the North Star. Since the age of 18 I would say I have remained fundamentally the same person.
I chafe at this a lot; it seems like many of those closest to me disdain even slight variation. Hell, changing my hair color to REALLY red still causes people to say "aren't you glad you're back to your old look?"
(It was shocking, but not atrocious. Even if it was, I stand fast to my right to be a LITTLE atrocious.)
Mention of a tattoo brings forth shudders from Mike. Telling John I want to perhaps go to school immediately prompts him to say "Why bother?". I feel as though I'm in suspended animation, except for my waistline.
Yesterday, I watched as one of the final pieces, the carpeting, was installed in my old house, the house of my birth and place where I grew into who I am. I lived there (or was confined there by guilt, I'm unsure which) for 28 years. I watched as it ceased to be my house and became a tabula rasa.
I'm so damn grateful for that.
I'll admit it; I hated that house, the memories, all the failures, all the longing unfufilled. After 1996, that house came to represent everything I had never done; every bad decision was my wallpaper. In the years that followed, I let it fall into disrepair, and I slipped down deeper into misery as the house declined. We were just like doomed lovers, holding hands as we jumped off the bridge. Sad and romantic in a tired Goth fashion.
Two years ago, I was blessed with Mike. He saw the state I was in and moved me into his house. He protected me, sheltered me, and nurtured me until I could start to function as a human being again. In many ways, he taught me more about living than anyone else (especially my parents) ever has. Compound my gratitude with the fact that I love him madly, and you can see why he's my first thought in the morning, and last as I sleep.
*********************************************************
Yesterday, the final stage of repairs was completed before I rent the house out. My former dungeon is now brightly lit and tiled in rosy creams, carpeted in warm beiges, and clothed in the cheerful white of its walls.
It's not my house anymore, and I'm so very glad of it.
I was set to sell it; my hate for the house even used to affect my mood as I visited it, but no longer. I promised Mike to rent it for at least one year and to continue working on it; after that, if I choose to doff it, I can. He wants me to see what the house COULD be, as opposed to what it was. Again, Mike's wisdom shines through.
I sat on its newly carpeted, clean, solid floor today and thought that it was not so terrible a place, but rather a place wrapped around a terrible time. I cannot say why this is such a milestone for me, just that it really feels, for the first time, as though my childhood ended. I feel strange & jubilant in a way, like I can leave now if I like. My only regret is that my parents aren't alive to see it.
**********************************************************************
In another strange occurrence, I was wandering around Romeoville, and my drive ended at the local branch of the Junior College, where I took a year or so of schooling. On a lark, I walked in and tried to fetch up my grades for laughs, and because I was curious. Well, the kiosk computer only went as far back as Spring 2000, so I had to head to the student office for help. When I got there, a cheerful, plump 19 year-old girl in a Nightmare Before Christmas t-shirt handed me my grades, and, without asking, a college catalog. Our conversation went something like:
"I'm sorry, I just wanted my grades."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted one."
"Well, no, I'm a bit old for college. Why did you think I wanted one?"
"Oh, sorry. You looked like someone who making a decision about classes. I thought you belonged in school. I can take that..."
"No, thanks. I'll keep it."
Weird how these thing keep coming. The catalog has been on my desk, and I constantly find myself reading it, unconciously reaching for it whenever I roost in a chair. I believe in omens, or in the current of life more precisely. I think I should stop moving against the current.
************************************************************************
As an aside, for the first time today, I lost my appetite while pondering the grotesque. I couldn't finish my breakfast burrito after thinking about Kafka's Metamorphosis. I just kept seeing cockroaches, on their backs, abdomens squirming......
I chafe at this a lot; it seems like many of those closest to me disdain even slight variation. Hell, changing my hair color to REALLY red still causes people to say "aren't you glad you're back to your old look?"
(It was shocking, but not atrocious. Even if it was, I stand fast to my right to be a LITTLE atrocious.)
Mention of a tattoo brings forth shudders from Mike. Telling John I want to perhaps go to school immediately prompts him to say "Why bother?". I feel as though I'm in suspended animation, except for my waistline.
Yesterday, I watched as one of the final pieces, the carpeting, was installed in my old house, the house of my birth and place where I grew into who I am. I lived there (or was confined there by guilt, I'm unsure which) for 28 years. I watched as it ceased to be my house and became a tabula rasa.
I'm so damn grateful for that.
I'll admit it; I hated that house, the memories, all the failures, all the longing unfufilled. After 1996, that house came to represent everything I had never done; every bad decision was my wallpaper. In the years that followed, I let it fall into disrepair, and I slipped down deeper into misery as the house declined. We were just like doomed lovers, holding hands as we jumped off the bridge. Sad and romantic in a tired Goth fashion.
Two years ago, I was blessed with Mike. He saw the state I was in and moved me into his house. He protected me, sheltered me, and nurtured me until I could start to function as a human being again. In many ways, he taught me more about living than anyone else (especially my parents) ever has. Compound my gratitude with the fact that I love him madly, and you can see why he's my first thought in the morning, and last as I sleep.
*********************************************************
Yesterday, the final stage of repairs was completed before I rent the house out. My former dungeon is now brightly lit and tiled in rosy creams, carpeted in warm beiges, and clothed in the cheerful white of its walls.
It's not my house anymore, and I'm so very glad of it.
I was set to sell it; my hate for the house even used to affect my mood as I visited it, but no longer. I promised Mike to rent it for at least one year and to continue working on it; after that, if I choose to doff it, I can. He wants me to see what the house COULD be, as opposed to what it was. Again, Mike's wisdom shines through.
I sat on its newly carpeted, clean, solid floor today and thought that it was not so terrible a place, but rather a place wrapped around a terrible time. I cannot say why this is such a milestone for me, just that it really feels, for the first time, as though my childhood ended. I feel strange & jubilant in a way, like I can leave now if I like. My only regret is that my parents aren't alive to see it.
**********************************************************************
In another strange occurrence, I was wandering around Romeoville, and my drive ended at the local branch of the Junior College, where I took a year or so of schooling. On a lark, I walked in and tried to fetch up my grades for laughs, and because I was curious. Well, the kiosk computer only went as far back as Spring 2000, so I had to head to the student office for help. When I got there, a cheerful, plump 19 year-old girl in a Nightmare Before Christmas t-shirt handed me my grades, and, without asking, a college catalog. Our conversation went something like:
"I'm sorry, I just wanted my grades."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted one."
"Well, no, I'm a bit old for college. Why did you think I wanted one?"
"Oh, sorry. You looked like someone who making a decision about classes. I thought you belonged in school. I can take that..."
"No, thanks. I'll keep it."
Weird how these thing keep coming. The catalog has been on my desk, and I constantly find myself reading it, unconciously reaching for it whenever I roost in a chair. I believe in omens, or in the current of life more precisely. I think I should stop moving against the current.
************************************************************************
As an aside, for the first time today, I lost my appetite while pondering the grotesque. I couldn't finish my breakfast burrito after thinking about Kafka's Metamorphosis. I just kept seeing cockroaches, on their backs, abdomens squirming......
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no subject
Date: 2002-07-01 07:58 am (UTC)As for you, you need to decide what you want out of school, and what you'd like to do when you're done with school. Once you've decided that, then you'll know whether it's for you or not for you.
Good luck either way.