A study in small lifestyles
Florida came and went in a flash, like a scatter of Polaroids on the kitchen floor. Airports, highways, palm trees. Damp air and sunshine and early morning tea, and quiet nights spent sleeping next to somebody I love very much. In a flash I was home again, drinking coffee in my pajamas, sitting on my sofa, looking around at my life in Texas.
I've only been home a day, and already I want to leave again.
Home means family. Don't get me wrong, I love my family. They're important to me, and I can't imagine life without them. My family just isn't such a good fit for me anymore. They all like to draw lines in the sand that they bury their heads in, having intellectual disagreements that spiral into wars over the dinner table, then throwing their hands in the air and proclaiming This is it, this is it. I've had it with you, we're never speaking again. Of course they do speak again, but only after I broker peace treaties and try to open friendly dialogue. Hostage negotiations. Holiday armistices. Cease and desist notices served over car rides and lunches.
I'm the family therapist some days, and the court mediator others. I'm in the middle of everything, between one brother who's just like our father, another who's just like our mother, and our parents who talk and talk but still manage to say nothing. Everything is an uphill battle, and I don't really feel like one of them anymore. I don't feel the same tugs and have the same goals and throw my hands up over the same things. I'm trying to take care of myself, and focus on my writing, and get my life in order. Still last night I had to put together an action plan at the dinner table to deal with all the apocalyptic drama that exploded during my absence last week. I'd only been home for six hours.
As you can imagine, I already miss Florida.
More than that, I miss Melissa. I miss the lifestyle. I miss how she lives and what she has, because that's what I want for myself. A tiny quiet life in a tiny quiet apartment, where she and I can take care of one another. That's all I really need, all it takes to make me happy. My family doesn't know this, and I don't care if they never do. This is mine, not theirs. After everything I do for them, I'm allowed to have this.
Maybe this is what growing up feels like?
Whatever. I'm going to finish my coffee and listen to some New Order. I deserve that much.
