A Regurgitation Entry

You are the one and only ever you. Nancy Tilman

A Regurgitation Entry

The thing that happens, when one does not get to what needs to be done, immediately, is that it becomes harder to do as a deadline approaches. I’ve been very good with these entries, this past week. I’ve put aside an hour a day for just writing, and have written, not well, but written. Today, because it was a Saturday, and because I was feeling quite proud of myself, I put off the writing until now (6:33p.m), and I’m going to have to write with thinking, without consideration of what I want to talk about. See why I say procrastination is my middle name.

My friend from the center, Eric, got some bad news over the holidays. His partner, who just proposed to him a few weeks back, has now said he wants to end the relationship. The fact that he, the partner, saved this announcement for the holidays is as big a shock, to me, as was the fact of the break-up.

I suspect that Tim wants to break up as a result of his proposal. I think he became overwhelmed by the committment the proposal implied, and knowing no way out, decided to end the relationship. Why he proposed, if he was that unsure, is the question. Also, what amount of pride would it have taken to rescind the proposal, explaining his unease over the seeming finality of the proposal, and letting things return to “as they were” until he was more comfortable?

This reminds me of the story my sister told me about her first wedding. She wanted to bolt, even the day of the wedding, but my father, pleading another “What will the neighbors think” pronouncement, and adding how much he had spent getting this wedding going, coerced her into going through with the ceremony. The only good thing that came of this was the birth of my nephew, and she doesn’t get to share in that because he doesn’t speak to her.

My sister left the marriage after a few years because her first husband was abusive. Just so as to have nothing to do with him, anymore, she surrendered custody of her son to her husband, and my parents, by and large raised him. I don’t know if my sister contributed anything to her son’s upkeep, while he was growing up. I do know he never saw her, again, until he was an adult, and then, only once. After that, he pledged me to keep silent about him to my sister. I agreed because it was the only way, after my parents’ deaths I could stay in touch with what was going on with him. I still am in touch, to this day.

My brother is also estranged from his son. I don’t think he’s even seen the grandson. Facebook is largely the way I stay in touch with that nephew.

Me? I’m mad at nobody. I’ll talk to all the relatives, even the annoying right-wings cousins. I don’t have to agree with my relatives to talk to them. They’re family. However, family doesn’t seem to be an idea that matters, in the rest of the family.

It’s not just a one-side situation, either. My mother died not having talked to her brother for twenty-five years over a piece of furniture left him by their aunt. I think it was more involved, financially, than that, however. I learned, recently, that the aunt in question left the bulk of her sizeable estate to my uncle. Of course, he was the only surviving sibling who helped her during her dotage years. I don’t think my mother had even phoned her aunt for at least 30 years before her death. Why she expected to be remembered more than she was, is a mystery to me.

I’m going to title this A Regurgitation Entry. It’s just words thrown up out of my mind to honor a private, personal, pledge to write at least one hour every day for as long as I can keep it up. It’s not a New Year’s resolution, I have trouble keeping those; this is just a pledge. (That last sentence will make no sense to anyone but me.) Tomorrow, I’ll try not to tempt my natural sloth and begin my writing earlier, before all the distractions set fully in.

My weekly session with my psych went well, although I was as random and purposeless as I am being here. These sessions, Eric’s visits, plus my visits to the Center keep me partially balanced. Add to that, my Facebook activity, and I remain practically sane.

The yearly health department visits are imminent, so the staff, here, is tense-walking on eggs. Once it’s over, the tension, at least that part of it that’s due to the threat of the visit, will dissipate. Of course, that’s only if we pass the inspection, but we always have.

As regards today’s header about being the one and only me- Every now and then I do wish I were someone else. Those nows and thens, I’m usually bored to tears with myself.


About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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