I hate change. Always have. If the patterns of my life have shown anything, it's been that change means giving up something out of the little that life/fate's left me with. Normally, it's had little to do with losing much materialistically (truth be told, I've never had that much materialistically, nor did I ever want much), although I've let go of my share; mostly it's about giving up a parts of myself.
In many cases, it's been my pride; the lessons learned humbled me, hurt a lot, taught me well, and contributed much to my growth as a person. In some cases, it's been my dignity; those lessons hurt a lot and seasoned me.
The lessons that hurt the worst, jaded me far too much, and challenged me the very hardest were the ones that tested my integrity and contributed most to the person that I've grown into. I'm facing one of those now. I'm going home.
Home. The images "home" conjures are a mixed bag. Love/hate, pleasure/pain, romance/heartbreak, dreams/nightmares, birth/death, anger/forgiveness. There's a line from the song, Beautiful Day, that comes to mind when I think of home:
You love this town
Even if that doesn't ring true
You've been all over
And it's been all over you
(Lyrics Source)
I never go home. I left for the second time nearly 10 years ago and I deliberately don't go back. I find that the past can be most brutal and unforgiving and I have a serious love/hate relationship with it. That's what home means to me - dredging up the past and breathing life back into demons that I've tried hard to lay to rest. In some cases, I succeeded, in others, not so much so. In any case, I don't like tempting fate when it comes to the balance I work so hard to maintain.
A lot has been going on since I last posted.
My last round of testing showed that I've got Epstein-Barr virus, full tilt. (Unfortunate, considering I was hoping to put up a kissing booth at Netroots Nation this year, just to earn some petty cash.) In any case, my temperature continues to go up and down and I find myself more exhausted than I ever imagined.
After my last trip to the cancer center in early March, an old friend offered me the illusion of what appeared to be a gift of healing and rest. I graciously accepted, something I rarely, if ever, do. Why? Because "gifts", by my definition, are only truly gifts when they're given without strings attached to them. Without strings attached. In my experience, true gifts are exceedingly rare; hence, I rarely accept "gifts."
I accepted this one against my better judgment. I accepted this one because I'm tired and my spirit is very near breaking. Those of you who know me, know why. Those who don't . . . well, things have been rough for quite a while.
I can report that my journey brought me more secrets to keep, (something I do well), and I'm told I'm an effective escort to various places one wouldn't want to visit alone. The up side was that in the bargain, I managed to see a wonderful old friend. She's well and looking as beautiful as ever as you can see:
I returned more tired than when I left and I'm a bit perplexed to find that some in my life are having a hard time accepting the fact that I'm more limited in what I'm able to do than I was back when the world was new and I was a wild, young thing. Aging and what goes with it has never been a problem for me. It just seems the natural course of things. Imagine my surprise in finding that others don't like it that I'm limited in how far I can push myself due to the current state of affairs.
I also returned to find that some things had changed significantly. I found that due to a certain unfortunate turn of events, someone I care about deeply has been forced into a living situation that they weren't prepared for - all for the love of money. And I'm brought to mind a quote from the movie, Vanilla Sky:
My father wrote about this in his book.
Chapter one, page one...
Paragraph one--
"What is the answer to 99 out of 100 questions?
Money."
(Quote Source)
This current turn of events is not sitting well with me. The person that's been affected is my Dad. A man, nearly 77 years old, with badly deteriorating knees, glaucoma, a bad heart, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. A man who didn't think he'd survive past the age of 49 because most of his family died at that age. A man who hopes and prays that he'll die before his only child. He's trying to get situated in his new digs and adjusted to his new life, but he sounds beaten and that makes me sad. I probably shouldn't hold this against the person who put him in this situation, but I can't help but wonder if this person's behavior is/isn't due to the fact that they're republican.
And so, I'm going home. In August, just before I go back to the cancer center to visit my friends, the vampires. I strongly suspect I'm going home to say goodbye. I think my Dad knows that too. I want to wish him enough. ©