2009 can go ahead and end as far as I'm concerned. I am SO over it... It has been a very difficult and rude year. Not one I'll be thinking of with Auld Lang Syne in 2010. Holy crap...
Those of you still reading already know WHY 2009 blows chunks. No point in reiterating it again. Really... no point.
I'm angry. Really fucking angry. Mind numbingly angry. It's stupid to be that angry. It fixes nothing and chokes the soul, but oddly I'm finding solace in the the frisson of being this angry. It kind of numbs things. Like a persistent white noise blocking out the pain.
Yes, it's lame to be this angry, but you know what? I'm tired of being scared. Tired of worrying and tired of failing so I'm gonna be really good at being angry. I come from a long line of angry people. I've perfected "Angry Old Lady Face" years ago. The face where the lines of disappointment form a halo around razor thin lips and the furrow of the brow has Grand Canyon depths. I'm REALLY good at that face- ask Randy.
I sometimes wonder if Grandma was as bitter and hard as I remember. If she was really that severe and if she was, was she always that way? Was she born with some kind of aggro-gene that formed her or was she worn down like a glacier. Sorrow and disappointment wearing on her like little erosion filled rivers. Siphoning all the happiness of life from her face.
I KNOW Grandma was happy. I remember her as happy, but I also remember how severe she seemed and how she is remembered. Remembered by her family- very different than how she was seen by her fellow church goers and collegues.
I can remember the day we buried her. A dark and dreary day. Her Memorial was an event for her church. HUGE really. There I stood shaking hands with people I'd never met and listening to them tell stories of a woman I wasn't sure I'd ever met. A laughing and joyful woman. Person after person giving their condolences to me for a woman I wasn't sure I knew.
At the private burial, we all gathered around her plot. Feet sinking in the water logged grass and the heavens did their best to drown us. And we prayed. We were praying over a large bouquet of yellow roses. It was all very solemn and all I could do was laugh. Yes, laugh. Roses? Seriously? Grandma was a strong and forthright woman of impeccable manners and morals. She was NOT a rose. My mother had to pinch me to keep from laughing too loud.
Terrible I know. But all these years later I still think about it. I still giggle, but at the same time I worry. Who will I be when I die and how will I be remembered. How will my loved ones remember me? Will they too be shocked to hear what people say about me and feel like they are at the funeral of someone they don't know? Or will everyone know me and still not have fond memories? Should I care? Perhaps, perhaps not.
But I'm angry. I'm so angry it hurts and fills my soul. Will it begin to wear me down too? Will I become an embittered old lady? Hell, an embittered middle aged broad? I don't know and frankly, right now, I'm not sure I care.
I think I like being angry and I think that's not a good thing.... my head hurts...
