A Darker Side of Being
I have a bound journal that sits up in my room gathering dust. Sitting is the occupation of the journal for quite some time now. I looked at it the other day because the thing has become a presence in my room, a dark hole of guilt that tells me I am not writing. In my mind I can usually picture exactly where it is in relation to where I am in the house. This is not magic or mysticism but the daunting, haunting power of a Roman Catholic upbringing. So anyway the journal made me look at it and I noticed that over a year has passed since last I wrote anything down.
Why haven't I written? Good question. Part of it has to do with the presence of video games. Have xbox will turn off brain. Next Paranoia. Its not really paranoia so much the knowledge that someone is always home who will look over my shoulder and comment. I can not take it. I will go into my room and not five minutes slip by and mom is yelling, "Noo Noo I need you to ..." Oh yeah she calls me Noo Noo. Which is bad enough at home but she has let it slip in front of everyone and their brother out of habit of calling me that. I might as well scream it to the internet because I will never live down Noo Noo. So all day mom is there a personage to be waited upon and all night the old man is up in the bathroom at random hours depending upon beverage intake and tiredness. Without fail he comes into the TV room and says, "Richard you might think about going to bed," all the while reading what is on the computer screen.
So why can I write now? Retinopathy. Mom can't see for anything. The laser treatment coupled with her diabetes makes for a very slow healing process. Downside mom cant see and her needy personality requires that either me or dad read to her everyday. (No books on tape for mom she needs that personal I told you to do it treatment). Upside: Even if she knew how to search my blog out on the net she can't see to read it! She can't see what I'm writing if she walks in the room. I know it's terrible but its such a relief that I feel able to write. Even with the knowledge that the old man may walk in during the odd hours of the night he'll just assume I looking at internet porn when I minimize the screen. HA!
As I'm working on this mom walks in here and says she is having trouble sleeping so maybe it could be story time. Two in the freaking morning and I'm being paged to read now. God I hate that!
So a few hours have passed and while I've worked out my anger over the monotony of my reading voice I have also come to an understanding of what bothers me. It's too intimate. I'm sharing a book something I've always used to escape from people with another person and that person is my mother. It feels entire to demanding on my psyche. And now I'm tired and have lost the train of what I was going on about here.
More laters
Why haven't I written? Good question. Part of it has to do with the presence of video games. Have xbox will turn off brain. Next Paranoia. Its not really paranoia so much the knowledge that someone is always home who will look over my shoulder and comment. I can not take it. I will go into my room and not five minutes slip by and mom is yelling, "Noo Noo I need you to ..." Oh yeah she calls me Noo Noo. Which is bad enough at home but she has let it slip in front of everyone and their brother out of habit of calling me that. I might as well scream it to the internet because I will never live down Noo Noo. So all day mom is there a personage to be waited upon and all night the old man is up in the bathroom at random hours depending upon beverage intake and tiredness. Without fail he comes into the TV room and says, "Richard you might think about going to bed," all the while reading what is on the computer screen.
So why can I write now? Retinopathy. Mom can't see for anything. The laser treatment coupled with her diabetes makes for a very slow healing process. Downside mom cant see and her needy personality requires that either me or dad read to her everyday. (No books on tape for mom she needs that personal I told you to do it treatment). Upside: Even if she knew how to search my blog out on the net she can't see to read it! She can't see what I'm writing if she walks in the room. I know it's terrible but its such a relief that I feel able to write. Even with the knowledge that the old man may walk in during the odd hours of the night he'll just assume I looking at internet porn when I minimize the screen. HA!
As I'm working on this mom walks in here and says she is having trouble sleeping so maybe it could be story time. Two in the freaking morning and I'm being paged to read now. God I hate that!
So a few hours have passed and while I've worked out my anger over the monotony of my reading voice I have also come to an understanding of what bothers me. It's too intimate. I'm sharing a book something I've always used to escape from people with another person and that person is my mother. It feels entire to demanding on my psyche. And now I'm tired and have lost the train of what I was going on about here.
More laters
posted by Rich Rosenthal II at 1:56 AM
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