Saturday

 

I’m fresh out of titles.

Everyone understood what the short story was about. Even the people that were off were so close that it’s irrelevant. We make each story ours as a result of our own experiences. I don’t expect everyone to have the same interpretation.

My reason for asking was that one of my classmates complained about not having any idea what I was talking about. Her wording was offensive to me. I felt like I was being attacked for not being more blatant. I don’t know if that’s how she meant it but that’s how it came off. Some others said it could be more clear. I appreciate constructive criticism. I genuinely want to grow as a writer even if my greatest accomplishment in that category of my life is a free E-book, you know? 

I realize that I am ambiguous sometimes in what I write. My favorite books are the ones where the author doesn’t spell it all out for you, there’s a lot of space between the lines to make the story what you want it to be so I do need to know when I’m too vague. But, in my defense, it was a 250 word assignment! You squeeze a whole story into that space without leaving something out.

Anyway, I’ve done a few more micro short stories lately. I like the format and there’s something less daunting about knowing you’re going to wrap it all up in less than 1,000 words, sometimes much less. A lot of them are for another assignment for class. We’re just writing intros to short stories, just the first 250 words. So it doesn’t have to be the whole story but it has to give you an idea of what’s going on. LOVE IT. I’ve worked on a few of them outside of the class assignment just because I’ve had so much fun with it.

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In the real world my whole family has gone to pot. I still can’t write about it, not even privately. I spent my Fourth of July crying while the fireworks were exploding because I had just got off the phone with my mother. I haven’t spoken to her since. I text her later and told her I couldn’t do it anymore. If she’s not willing to change what’s going on there (or get the fuck away from it) I can’t be her shoulder/ear anymore. I called my psych NP the day before to ask for something for panic attacks. The every day anti-anxiety meds are helping tremendously but they do nothing for Mom phone calls. I hung up on the fourth feeling like I was going to vomit. The NP agreed and prescribed me an "emergency button". I haven’t picked it up yet.

I also made an appointment with an actual therapist. It all sounds drastic and dramatic but I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t think I’m conveying the depth of that here or anywhere really. I feel myself coming undone at the seams sometimes. I need to learn how to love my family without being so personally involved in their bullshit. I’ve accepted that they aren’t going to change. Mom is going to be Mom till the day she dies. She isn’t going to suddenly grow up and learn how to cope with her own trauma. My mamaw isn’t going to magically get better and be who she used to be. All I can do with that information is learn how to love them as they are without falling to pieces over every new development in their lives. And I really don’t know how to do that.

I (we) have made the decision that no matter where we move or whether we stay, it’s going to be because we’re doing what’s best for us and not to be closer to our families. We miss them, we want to help them but at the end of the day sacrificing a good career and environment that makes us happy isn’t worth it. It took a nasty fight between my mom and mamaw the other night to make me realize that. I spoke to my mamaw’s sister on the phone and was heartbroken at how angry and disconnected she sounded. And I started listing off the specific relatives that I wish I was closer to and realized that not one of them ever calls me, even if I call them regularly, I never hear from them.

What does that say?