I Am Listening To Music

Every song makes me think. I don't want to think, really. Because most of the things I am thinking about are making me sad.

I listened to "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" and the last verse made me think of Troy. I don't think about him in a romantic way anymore- I never really did. But every time I see him, drive past his house, notice his car, hear someone talk about him, I get sad. It cuts me like a knife. It isn't him I miss; it's the closeness I had with someone, the fact that someone was happy to see me every day, the fact that someone was at least willing to pretend that he loved me. I wish I could go back, or find that again. Find it again, only better.

Then "Like A Rock" came on. That one made me think of the old Chevy ads, first. But that was my go-to thought. After that one passed, the rest hit me. I used to be a rock, too. When my mom was sick, when my mom was dying, I was a rock. I was her rock. Inside, I cried. All the time, every day, constantly. But I only let the tears come out when I was alone at night, because when I cried it made my mother angry. She wanted me to be strong when she could not. And now, my father is not able to take care of himself and I find myself once again in the same position. I am feeling worn out, pained, and unappreciated, unloved. I feel like I give and I give and I give and I never get to take because there is no one who is willing to give me anything. I want to take just a little bit. Not because I am selfish and greedy but because I need to feel like I am worth something to someone. All I am worth is what I have to give, but I don't feel like I have much more to give, and that will leave me worthless. I want to matter to the world. There are a hundred people who will tell me that I matter to them, but the fact is that if I were to depart from this earth, they would not notice for a few days, and then they would notice and maybe be sad, but after a few more days, their lives would go on just fine. I do not matter, no matter how much I try to be a rock. And I am tired of being a rock. If someone so much as offers to get me a glass of water while he or she is getting one for him or herself, I cry because it feels so good to have someone give. Hard as I try, I am failing at being a rock. I live, I breathe, I cry, I hurt. And I am cracked by the snow and cold of winter. Like a rock.

Finally, a song that brings happy thoughts. "Subterranean Homesick Blues"... go figure. But it is a song that recalls in my mind long weekends in the woods, camping with my parents. Specifically makes me think of rainy Sundays tearing down campsites- roll up damp tent and sleeping bags and throw everything in the van to sort out at home when the sun comes out again. Crawl into the back of the van, on the big bed, in a pile of blankets and pillows, with a good book that I've read a thousand times before, so often that it has become an old friend that soothes my blackest moods. I can feel the radio pulsing through me via the speakers in the back doors of the van, and I can hear the tingtingting of rain on the roof, and I am cold and wet but slowly warming in my hidden little haven while my dad finishes packing up the campsite and my mom does cross stitch in the front seat. The music I can feel is old and full of meaning, because here at Boney Falls, we can pick up the oldies station in Marquette, and I love that music. I am not one of the cool kids. I don't know all the hip new songs. But these old songs flow in my veins because they shaped who my parents are and therefore who I am, too. Bliss.

Spice Girls. Scary, Posh, other adjectives. "Wannabe" came out when I was in middle school or high school. It's a chick song: power of friendship versus love/attraction. I always loved the upbeat, positive feel of this song, and the way it made friends more important than men. I mostly liked that message because while I managed to have a few good friends, there were no boys in my life. I dreamed of boys actually wanting to befriend me, date me, and I dreamed of having the confidence to let them know they had to treat me well. Instead, they just didn't treat me at all. Still don't, as a matter of fact. The lyrics make me sad, because I cannot be that bright and bold and confident. But the music. The music makes me dance.

That's the magic of music. Whether it makes me happy or it makes me sad, it always makes me dance.

Life Is Just As

foggy and depressing as the weather.

For instance, my couch is destroyed. My dad has been sleeping on it for over a year and a half now. The boards are all broken. It smells like pee. And underneath it, there are pounds of peanut shells that my dad has dropped there, along with enough of god-knows-what else to completely fill the space between the floor and the broken boards of my couch. It makes me want to cry.

My bathroom is also destroyed. The sink is brown and orange and nasty-dirty because my father doesn't know how, apparently, to clean up after himself. He also doesn't know that he routinely misses the toilet and pees all over the floor. About 6 months ago, I gave up cleaning it, because most of the time I am only halfway through when he comes to use the bathroom again and I have to start all over.

He has no consideration for other people's feelings. In his mind, all of this is okay because he supports me financially. It's all about money to him. He doesn't understand that sometimes quality of life is at least equal to, if not more important than, money. And my quality of life is almost non-existent.

I love my dad. I really do. If he would just go away for a week so I could clean, and then try to clean up after himself afterwards, I could live with it. Maybe move into a bedroom instead of my living room so I could have friends over. I only want simple things in life.

What I want, more than anything, is to present my father with the following plan.

1. You go spend a week away. I will spend that week cleaning my house.

2. I move all the things out my office and put my couch and TV in my office. This is your space. You may do with it as you like, but I get to close the door at my discretion. That way, you can pile junk up all around you and pee all over everything as much as you want to, and I am still allowed to have a life.

3. You will keep a bedpan with a wall on the front of it in your bedroom so that you can pee in it before you go to the bathroom. Then you will not leak pee all over my carpeting and will be less likely to miss the toilet and pee on the floor in the bathroom.

4. After you have use the bathroom, or walked through my house when you needed to use the bathroom, you will check the floor to see if it is wet. If so, you will clean it with my Swiffer Wet Jet. That'll probably work on the carpet, too. At least if it's wet with cleaner solution, it will smell better than if it's wet with pee, and the handle is long enough that you can use it without bending over.

5. You will wash and put away any dishes that you use, as will I.

6. You will put things neatly in cupboards and not stack them up until they are toppling over, and you will put EVERYTHING in cupboards rather than leaving it out on countertops.

7. You will keep all of your things in your room. Always. The rest of my house is my house.

8. If I should bring friends home with me, you are welcome to join us when invited, but if you are not invited, you will not ask me any questions or join in any conversations. I am a grown woman, and you don't need to know what I plan to do if I have male friends over.

If I were to lay down these rules, and my father were to abide by them, I might be able to start getting my life together. Until then, I will cry like the clouds and hide in the fog.