one more thing before bedtime.
I had a conversation with my dad about art in which he (a little drunk, maybe into 3rd or 4th beer and with that boozy smell sweating off him) went on about how art should just be for entertaining people, books and music he means mostly. There shouldn't be any sort of elitist art. "But what if you're a decadent, neurotic aesthete, like me? I am made happy as pie by pr0ust in a way that i'm not by, like, agatha christie. Are you gonna hang a sign around my neck with barbed wire that says "daughter of rich landlord" or something? can't elitists have art too? " He hems and haws. And as if he wouldn't respect his little brother more if he was in an orchestra rather than playing classical guitar at the t1dewater inn every sunday for old ladies having tea, and in sleazy rock cover bands during the week in small m@ryland towns? get real. I did appreciate his huge attempt to gently approve of my ambitions by having bought me the novels of the guys that he went to prep school with. Subtext --> "They are flaky, but they are writers and have made it, and it is possible to be normal, and 55, as I am, and be a writer. I can now conceive of it. Maybe you don't suck as much as when i thought you would when i used to yell at you that you'd never amount to anything with your artsy fartsy crap."
I do respect his way of life and all the times his thrifty bourgeoisitudinosity has saved my ass (when they weren't kicking me out, they were taking me back and bailing me out financially) and it often made me resolve that I want to be able to do the same for Moomin someday if he needs tuition or bail or for me to pay his gambling debts or buy him the finest electric guitar known to humankind. Or maybe he'll need a new set of racing silks if he becomes a jockey. Whatever. When people make fun of other people whose parents help them, I know what they mean, but wouldn't they want to help their own kids? It seems bad to disrespect the principle. not that i've done anything about it, or have any real savings that aren't really Rook's or from his family, or any sort of anything beyond some $3000 IRA left over from when i had a real job, once. I'm grateful for all the times my mom and dad saved my ass and most especially for when they bought me my truck in 1993 when i was all crippled (instead of forcing me to move back home, which would have been good for no one.)
i do wish they could have been more supportive of me and like, in my teenage years have hooked me up with mentors (i.e., those guys my dad went to school with who were journalists or novelists) or helped me get internships or bothered to look into the reality of doing what i wanted to do. or if they'd helped me pay for grad school the first time around, instead of saying that it was stupid and unrealistic to want to be a college prof. in comp lit and that I'd never make any real money that way. why did they do that to me? they refused to support me even a single bit in grad school, as if Dear Abby had reached into their brains and told them that I was 21 now and shouldn't be sponging off them, and they had to yank the silver spoon from my mouth. I repeat in case anyone's forgotten that they told me they'd support me only if I went to school to become an accountant. Why? what? where did that come from? what was that about? why are they so weird and unreliable? and i know other peopel manage to put themselves thru grad school without feeling all whiny and entitled about it, but I tried and failed...
anytime anyone wants to bitch-slap me for being neurotic, flaky, arty, selfish, elitist, slutty, etc. i'm just ... I'm not apologizing even the least bit... to hell with it... jeez... I often had steady jobs with benefits, and I'm sure will again, which is more than one can say about my dad's 3 flaky, artistic, or insane brothers... I do my best...
it's horrible to feel that one has disappointed one's parents and only made up for it by breeding them a grandchild. I feel like they're trying to show they love and appreciate me but a) it's clearly hard for them and a huge leap b) it's hard to trust them at all.
i know my mom is desperately thinking still that i'm going to give her moomin every summer or for large chunks of time -- that i'm going to put him on a plane and ship him to TX and they'll buy him his own pony and he'll read all the nice editions of black beauty and sw1ss family robinson they've got lined up on the shelves waiting for him. As if their own shipping of me off to RI worked so well? though i did enjoy the good books there, and the beach. Just as Moomin would enjoy the pony and the books here and the nice food and stuff. But... no way... god... their racism alone... being surrounded by hicks... the isolation... my fundamental lack of trust of their consistency or sanity... Yet they do love him madly and they are fairly understanding of his quirky dreaminess, I think... Whatever, Rook would never in a million years allow it so they can give up working me over on that issue.... they think they are so subtle... oh, god.. as if growing up with me as a parent is some sort of picnic... probably not.
um this was going to be a short, sane post, to prove i'm sane and even-tempered and staying the course and steady-minded. oopsie.
And so to bed.
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