I wanted to get away from work, away from the loud noises from the costumers, and coworkers, and the ever growing sprout of my goddamn anger and anxiety. And yet it still floods all over me here with my father and step mom.
I hardly got any sleep after working a ten hour shift and I left at two, and my flight is at seven. I'm a walking zombie like all the other fine passengers wanting to go somewhere to escape just like me. Who knows what they're doing on their trips. It sure as hell not going to be like I wanted to, but at least it's better than going through all the bullshit of people taking advantage of me and treating me like a greenhorn.
Hampton is beautifully dead, like a band coming back from a bad week of the fury out on the sea and the expensive boats retire from their long way out of the storm, and fishing, and exotic fashion and top-notch arrogant memberships. It's cold here still. Then again it's near the sea. So is my old man and the woman whom he still sticks around with after so many years of terrible memory loss and non-stop binge drinking in hopes to make the stupid notions of a bad older relationship die down a little. Actually, it gets worse, because both of them are on the verge of dying and Hampton is the lost place for lovers to die. That's part of Virginia's slogan: "Virginia is for lovers", but they can still laugh about while watching old programs on Netflix and complain how cable TV is expansive, and how they are both still angry at how this country is doing.
My dad is going to be sixty and he is a long time republican. Let alone the fact that he changed me, or in this instance, I changed because of how he treated me. He made me into him and I'm displaying that kind of behavior on him like he doesn't know what's going on or why I'm expressing like this. This is how it will turn out to be: Quietness near the shore line, watch Netflix and browse around the shops with him and have some of the same types of food he and my step mom have been cooking for god knows how long and at some point I want to yell at them to shut the hell up. Well, I yelled at him but not with both of them in the same room.
So, yes, I got a long way to go before my trip back. I told him about what I want to do outside of dishwashing and prepping food, but even he is confused about what I'm going to do, besides publish a novel and not make enough money off of it. But I'm also confused because they have last a long time with each other and I have no clue how they manage to walk upstairs every night and sleep in the same bed. I told my old man that it's better to live alone and not having to deal with people. I mean, we sit together and watch That 70s Show, one show we both watched all the damn time and I introduced him to House Of Cards and to my surprise he also loves it (Actually if he drinks, which he does a lot, his political opinions spark up like a wild dog and I have to throw a chewy toy to calm him down), and we don't bother each other, and we know what's on our minds, but we're both angry all the time because we end up confusing each other.
It's sad really, because I'm just as lost as he is. I told him what's going on in Texas, and my job, and what's really going on my head, and his face is stunned like a deer in the headlights. He is angry because he is confused, and he's confused because I'm sad because I'm confused about how we ended up like this. This genetic accident we have become.
I guess you never lose your place no matter how many times you try to forget. But they are there to remind you that you still have traditions to live for.
Art image by Margarethe Vanderpas