The title of this post has been my mood for the last week.
Officially, I am starting my PhD tomorrow. This past month I was meant to prepare my materials, look at the ancient plays I want to scour for critical attitudes to gods, moments when the mortal characters turn to these Supreme Entities and express misery, irritation or anger at the gods involved. It's a subject I really am interested in, and that I think others would also be interested in. But my interest and natural desire to dig, and dig into these plays, so that I'm overcome each night with an almost Opium-like need to work until sunrise, hasn't taken hold yet - which is bad, because that's how I normally work.
Rather, this month has been taken up with a series of inceasingly surreal things that force me to retire into my head.
The first was my sister's wedding, something I was genuinely dreading, desperately trying to find a way to get out of it without causing a greater schism than what there already is. My sisters' and I are not cut from the same cloth, and more than once they have made this difference painfully (physically and emotionally) clear to me. Even while our mother was dying, neither of them could contain their innately violent nature that they direct towards me. I don't want to go into what it was they said or did here, because it's already upsetting me, just alluding to it here alone. But needless to say, despite my going to the wedding (more for my father and extended family's benefit), I would rather like to never have anything to do with these monsters ever again. I had reasoned with myself, as I was coping with the near-panic that descended as I prepared my travel, that I would just go to this one thing, just this one thing where I'll steel myself, grit my teeth and drink to ease the horror of being there. And that's exactly what I did. I got horrendously drunk, gave the bride a very brief congratulations then overshared with everyone at the table, all while I was sure it would be very long time indeed before I had to see either of these awful people again.
The next day, I found out my uncle had died. My uncle Bill, who I first met when I was not much older than 6, who I remember being gentle and patient with the little girl (me) who wouldn't shut up about the various books I was reading at the time. I remember once he visited when I was going through a phase of wanting to change my name to Violet (I thought it sounded so much more romantic and pretty than Victoria. Violet was going to have tons of adventures). I told him firmly, as I had been telling everyone who stood still for long enough, that I must now only be called Violet, and as delighted when he immediately agreed to my request - I'd been battling with my mother all week to agree to my new, exciting moniker. He also pretended that by changing my name, I had turned into a completely different person, and kept asking "Violet" where "Vicky" was, because "Vicky" was a lovely little girl who he was very fond of. I remember him saying that and it makes me feel so happy. My next memory of him is years later, when I was around 17/18. We went to Blackburn for a surprise party for his 60th birthday. He was different from how I met him, smaller, with glasses, but just as kind. I walked past where he was sitting down on my way to the bar, and I stopped to say happy birthday and he shook my hand and said thank you and kissed my hand. The memory is imprecise, but it's all I have. That was the last serious memory I have on him. I suppose we must have spoke when my mother was sick last year, but I can't remember anything in particular. I regret that I didn't speak to him more, that I only have these murky memories that I can't fully replay like other (normally traumatic memories.)
Aside from how sad I was about Bill, I was also terrified about being back in the room with my estranged gene-sharers. I booked a train up to Blackburn by myself, heading up early so I didn't have to share a car with anyone. At the funeral, I sat next to my cousin Rachael. Rachael is an odd one, but she's otherwise very kind, witty and clever. Occasionally she responds to innocuous questions like "you ok?" with terse, snappy answers, though I read into this more an inability to interact with people when feeling low. If my perception is correct, it makes me feel a kinship for her, for being unable to be polite and accommodating when feeling like shit. I mean, fair enough. We all suck when life is sucking.
Still though. Let's go. Let's see those ridiculous, awful people and let them read in my face how much I loathe them.
No comments:
Post a Comment