My father, when he lived with us, was a jerk. I have my stories of those times, but suffice it to say that I think it was an endless battle for my mother to stay sane when he was around. It seemed that all tension vanished when my mother made him move out ... no longer did I dread going home, no longer was all the food in the house bitter or sour.
I used to be afraid of her, but now I realize that I am unbelievably lucky to have her. I am constantly impressed by the feats of her life, and believe that I am incapable of ever emulating her determination and success. She survives, no matter what. She survived losing her father to cancer when she was young. She was the first person to go to college on her side of the family. She put up with my dad for nearly twenty years, for my sake. The changes that he wrought on her dropped away when she divorced him, and it was like she shed a skin, changing herself anew, finding all her hidden energy and devoting it to her loves. Despite losing my father's income, we stayed in the house that I loved. She kept us in that house for years, kept healthy food on the table, kept the house warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Because of her efforts, the house looked like it had a full family inside of it, and it did.
She struggled. I am here because she works endlessly still. And so it flabbergasts me to know of mothers who don't care, because mine cares so very much. It's hard for me to imagine a life lived without a support like she has been.
"You know what you have to do, right?"
Yes, I know now. The mother-figure in my dream two nights ago did not have to tell me what lay waiting for me in the possible futures, for I was aware of what I should have do someday. I have to heal someone, somehow ... because this is all I can do. I have to heal, because I have caused pain. What else can I do with what I am? I cannot shield anyone, cannot prevent suffering or unhappiness. I can only try to aid in recovery of spirit, of emotion.
Ugh, my left shoulder is killing me. Stop it, you! You're a part of my body whether you like it or not, and I am not giving you permission to leave!
It's rare for people to introduce themselves to me of their own free will (and seem to do it so happily), so I must write his name down (because if I forget it, I will feel bad). Nick, the dude who wore a blue jumpsuit. There is one problem with meeting new people, and that is you never quite know where the conversation level should rest. I should've said more, I should've said less, etc. etc.
The campus bookstore is having a two-day "sidewalk sale," to get rid of the stuff that they couldn't sell earlier. I visited yesterday, and found it rather disappointing. No sketchbooks out there, none at all! I admit that I already have two or three sketchbooks waiting to be used, but I like to stock up (in order to avoid having to seek out a crappy sketchbook at Walmart, like I had to during the Magical Freakin' Swevening).
Five of us played Starcraft (that's the name, right ...?) the other night. And all five of us got absolutely obliterated, utterly wiped off the map. nyxdae and I tried to set up a nomadic sort of existence for our people after our base was annihilated ("RUN! RUN!!"), but as we were trying to resettle ourselves near our allies ("Not enough minerals. Mine more minerals."), they were wiped out too and so that was that.
Later captsoontirfel tells us that he had our enemies set on "insane," so they were - guess guess - psychopathically aggressive. Dude, I for one prefer it if my enemies are complacent. XP I want to be the one doing the mowing down, not the other way around!