Sometimes life can get so stuffy, like the attic room you're forced to store your furs in the year you can't afford cold storage. Heat is a dangerous beast. It makes you languid, it droops your flower's petals, makes you so thirsty that you turn brown, shrivel and catch fire. While often it serves to burn away the excess, to melt off winter's pudge, it is known to take you with it. Some days I fear that it has taken far too much of me.
Now that my temp job is over, I'm left looking for more work. Day to day money seems to be the biggest worry. College debt is a terrible thing. Every time I feel that I've learned a lesson I relapse, though I know, somewhere, that I'm getting better. It's just hard sometimes. I'm sure that there isn't an adult out there who doesn't understand, still, I'm losing
sleep over it these days. Try as hard as I might to get some sleep, something always keeps me up. It's the sound of someone's cash register. I know that I'm going to be better off than I was last time when I finally make it back, but will it be enough?
Still, I burn in my second story room. The new job will be here soon if the temp people are to be believed. Two weeks of unemployment in this economic climate certainly isn't terrible, still it makes one restless, makes one question and lose faith.
It rained today, though it did very little to restore my hope in things. My family is at odds with each other, and what with the annual family vacation this weekend, I don't know what to do. The escapist in me tells me to run away, because it isn't all my battle. I live in this household in the way I feel will be easiest for everyone - I stay in my room, out of the way. Or, I try, but it seems that staying out of the way, and doing what is needed when asked serves to make certain parties think me ungrateful, though I explain in buying my own food, riding my bike for miles upon miles daily, that I just don't want to be a burden.
I am not the sole reason my family is having difficulty. Though I did not hear everything, there were screams from the kitchen, and my sister was told to find a new place to live. I worry about
her. She doesn't understand cause and effect, and some days I fear that she never will. She asks for the world, but before putting her hand out to accept her prize, she fetters it, and slings it across the back of her mustang, and rides off into the desert without a glance back. It seems the price on her head is too much for my mother to handle any more. I have no doubt that she'll leave, but with no money to her name and no job, I can't see her getting too far.
I hope that we survive this weekend. I can't deal with fighting, I just can't. Camping leads to cabin fever, which makes everyone irritable, and the heat is just so dangerous. I feel my sides curling, and what's left of the childish crayon on my paper facade melting.
I feel tied to this place by guilt that is so very hard to get over most days. It is easier to burn in the heat of my attic room. I suppose that there is a certain fear in there somewhere, coupled with the guilt of being of age and at home. There lies the wanderlust, I imagine. I need to go, but never can.
And there is so much more to talk about, but this will have to suffice. This is long enough already.
Luke warm regards,
Caleb
P.S. fantod - a state of extreme nervousness or restlessness
P.P.S. Here, I made something for you. It's a mix entitled Music Therapy. I made it some time ago, and never gave it away. For a long time there, I lauded it as my favorite mix, and it eventually got lost in a stack of cds. I found it today, and it needs a home. Please, treat it well. If you'd like a full size album cover, just shoot me an email at caleb.s.lesher@gmail.com
It's like an ongoing surprise party since the tracks don't identify themselves. I'd ask for a track list, but I kind of like it this way.
ReplyDeleteHope your weekend goes better than anticipated. This too shall pass.