Oh, god, now I have that “Can’t change, I can’t change, I can’t change” in my head. I’m having a very lovely visit with my cousin A. and her husband and daughter. Her daughter is two and a half and just smart as poop. Hilarious. I mean, I’m glad she’s not my kid, because my kid would, if she said “damn it” as cute as N. does, would not be stopped. She’d be cussing like a two-and-a-half year old sailor.
Her visit so far has involved finding every stuffed animal in the house and putting it either to bed or in time out. Grover, it seems, cannot help but hit people in the head. I was asked to “talk to him.” About all the hitting of people in the head–Kermit and the Grinch.
But the best part is when she sat on the couch with me and told me all about her dogs, Charlie and Lola. Charlie has a “twinkly eye” but Lola does not. Turns out poor Charlie has a cataract. But I love that she came up with the notion that it was “twinkly.” It’s going to be odd if she maintains her current bodytype, because she’s really tall and slender for a two-and-a-half year old. We Phillipses don’t produce a lot of tall and slender people usually, but, eh, every once in a while. And neither her mom or dad are that tall. but she’s about as tall as a five-year-old.
The thing is that, I had a wonderful evening last night. But this morning, while they’re still asleep, I about want to cry. Is this what I’m missing out on? Having these people closer? Having a kid who runs around saying “damn it” when she gets frustrated?
But how could I have lived my life any differently? I mean, it’s not like I deliberately chose this life, but when I saw it coming, I didn’t run from it, either, and I’ve run from other things.
The Corporate Shill had a baby last night. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.
I just let go and let go and let go. Take my hand and feel it already slipping out of your grasp. And for what? I don’t know.
Is this what you do to be an artist? And, if so, then why do I suck at it?
Oh, lord. I don’t suck at it, I know. I just don’t know something and I’m not even sure what that something is.
Oh, family. They’re just like excavators for all kinds of emotional crap.