Personal

“if i could see your face once more”

You learn something when your estranged father passes. It’s like losing sight of something from your peripheral – you understand that something is missing in your field of vision, but you can’t place just what it is. And the more you look around, the more you realize its absence. The more you begin to comprehend that this random item in your life meant more to you than you were willing to admit.

I think about my father more these days than in the years before his death. He remained in the edges of my life – estranged, always there, but never present. In those days, there was an option to reach out and grow a relationship. Though, there is little regret in the way I handled our relationship – it was a two-way street after all.

There isn’t a doubt in mind that my life might have taken a different path had my father just tried a little harder. Or if I had in my adult years. However, it’s a life I cannot envision. Javier may have not been the best father figure in my childhood, but I will no longer dwell on that. Why mourn what I never had instead of being grateful for the days I did?

Personal

This Post Wasn’t Meant To Be And Yet It Is

Last night, I listened to depressing music followed by the latest episode of Skins followed by more depressing music. I prefer depression these days, it seems. There’s probably some psychological term for people like me. And whatever it is, I’m sure it’s absolute bullshit. Not that I thrive on depression. Not at all. It’s the sense that I’m undeserving of an ounce of happiness. This morning, my physical body caught up to my emotional one. Something I did yesterday has caused me to remain prostrate in bed for most of the day.

I listened to each song carefully last night, writing down the ones that caught my attention the most. I’m compiling a list—I share it here along with a story or a review or whatever—to burn on a CD (who does that anymore?—Trust me, if I could, I’d be recording mixes on cassette tapes).

The other night, I started writing a letter. Ashton knows about it. I meant to share it on here, but it’s far from completion. Even my correspondence goes through drafts, apparently. So many thoughts traveling through my head. Sometimes I just want to meet someone who can just—I don’t know—balance me. That’s not so much to ask for, is it?