teetalks

I almost feel like a fool, wanting things for myself. We’re still setting up our new little home and I think about things my mom has, an electric can opener she keeps on the counter. I want one, I don’t have much counter space but I want one, I can put it away and then take it out when needed. My best friend sent me pictures she got back from the photographer from her wedding and I see how much weight I’ve gained, I don’t recognize myself. She looks gorgeous and happy which is what matters, I’m only looking at how much I’ve changed and that I’m unhappy with myself. She sees someone who loves her and I see “you could be doing better”. We still need a couch, a rug, some bookshelves. It will take a long time to feel like home, like my previous post I know I come off like a miserable homesick girl..and I feel like one. I want the can opener, do I have to deserve it? Can I just want that for myself? I go home as often as I can, I miss my parents all the time. I wish I could live next door or have an attached mother daughter suite. Maybe these are the pangs of being an only child. I know there’s a “syndrome” of being an only child, good social skills because we’re around adults as peers, deep guttural sadness and loneliness because I only have myself to rely on when they’re sick. My mom was in the hospital two years ago and I was alone in the room with her, I would call my dad who stayed home with my sister who can’t really handle this stuff as she has some disabilities. It was just me, doesn’t matter that I’m a nurse. This is my one and only mom, mommy. I have half siblings from my father’s first marriage, they’re all at least 20 years older than me and always felt more like aunts and uncles instead of a close sibling bond, just “we’re sorta related”. I have friends and I have Paul but I don’t have anyone to look at and say “remember Christmas in 1993?”. It was me and my parents, those memories are only mine. Moving into our own apartment feels like what I’m supposed to be doing for my age, for my relationship. I moved into Pauls with his mom about 7 months ago and its only because I found mold in my room. I moved me and my dog who died shortly after moving, I think I put too much stress on her little heart, I’m not sure. One day hopefully I will not blame myself. I think I would still be home in my room if it wasn’t for the mold. Was that a sign?

My room wasn’t pushing me forward, it’s a keepsake space for every memory, every emotion all my accomplishments and relationships and yearbooks and clothes I can’t get rid of. I’ve always curated my room to be as cozy as possible, a representation of all versions of me all over the walls, paint on the floor and the mattress and the window somehow. I slept in my moms bed until I was about 9 which historically, families slept together for warmth.. not because they’re “fraidy-cats”… Now in this new space I remove old unused things from my life, being forced to be a responsible adult. So yeah I want the fucking electric can opener that has 42,667 4.5 star reviews dammit! I have to do something for myself that is good and not impulsive but for my spirit. I love to make soup, hand held ones are archaic and god invented technology so I could grieve my childhood home and think about my moms electric can opener she keeps on the counter.

With all that being said, part of this may not feel right because it’s winter and in my head the new year starts in spring when the air stays warm. The wind gusts now are from a horror movie and the air is chilled. I can’t stay warm and usually the cold doesn’t bother me. We live next door to an elementary school and it makes me think of Horizons on the Hudson, my magnet elementary school. Of course I think about the unfairness and difficulties of relationships when I was little but I had the best times of my life in HOH, my favorite memories are there. The experiences and adventures with no background of life , seeing the world anew. Climbing the statue of liberty was a feat I didn’t know one day would be closed to the public. I’ll never forget looking out those cloudy windows not having a clue how fucking high up we were. Squinting and standing on my tippy toes trying so hard to understand depth and distance and the size of boats in the river and how god damn big a river is. Dashing through the gift shop trying to find something perfect for my parents and I found a tiny little glass cup, years later I learn it’s a shot glass and my parents don’t drink. Innocent and wanting to make them happy. Lucky for my grief, longing for the most magical and loving childhood. I felt like Fievel when Henri flew him around the brand new statue of liberty in An American Tail. I was in the movie! I was Fievel!

I bought the can opener.