…and the silence in my life is deafening. I don't know why I wait all week for for this. If I'm unlucky enough to live another twenty years, I don't think I will ever get used to the loneliness, and not really meaning anything to anyone. I feel like Eleanor Fucking Rigby.
I was going to leave the post at that, but I'm pissed. I'm pissed and bitter…and bitterly pissed…in a pissed off bitter sort of way. I didn't DO anything to deserve this. At least I don't think I did. I'm really a good person. I work hard, always have. I'm good to people; I've never intentionally set out to hurt anyone. I raised my kids as best I could mostly alone. I do what I can to make others happy and comfortable.
Here's what I'm thinking might be my karma. As my busy life was spinning around me, I watched my father die. I watched all my aunts and uncles die. I watched my mother's friend die one by one, and I watched her become more and more alone. She used to tell me how lonely she was – not having anyone her generation left. Not having anyone with whom to go for drives in the country anymore. I was sympathetic…I thought. I told her I could understand it. I tried to go see her a little more often, but it seemed like all we did was argue if we were together more than an hour, so I called her on the phone every morning over coffee – or she called me. I thought she had it all together with her church activities, her perfectly clean house, the fun she had ordering shit from QVC, poking flowers in her garden…and telling me how I should live.
I didn't go see her as much as I should have. I should have put both our fat asses in the car more often and taken her to the country…or a flea market, or anything. I really didn't understand her loneliness afterall, but I do now, and it's too late. She was a remarkable woman and didn't deserve it. Neither do I. All I know is that if how I'm feeling tonight and many other nights is how she felt day in and day out, she's better off now.
Okay, back to my whiskey. Sorry.
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Cheeps 