06 September 2001

I ate dinner with my grandparents last night. This served a couple of good purposes. I cooked them dinner, because I like to cook, and I'm good at it, and they didn't feel like doing it themselves. Thus, they got food made for them, and I got a free meal, which made everybody happy. They got to spend time with me, and I got to show them my Seattle pictures, and tell stories about stuff nobody else is really all that interested in. That made everybody happy too.

I came home and put on some music for my bird. My bird is actually a pretty damned smart creature. He absolutely FREAKED when I put on Neil Young for him -- a CD my dad used to play almost constantly, which he evidently heard from his cage in the next room. Funny, how animals seem to feel nostalgia. I thought it was just me.

[For some reason, my bird also likes AC/DC. I have NO idea who taught him that, and I'd suspect either Aaron or Norman, but the AC/DC thing has been going on for several years... Maybe it's just a matter of taste... Or lack thereof...]

I took a bath the other day with some bath-salt things my mom gave me. I thought about my mom a little bit, and about my dopey little delinquent brother John, who will, in all likelihood, grow up to be as much of a mess as his big sister. Sometimes I go over to my mom's house and cook for her too. She works a lot and doesn't usually feel like making anything more elaborate than cereal. So I cook for her, and then I eat with her, and ain't life just grand... And my brother... I ran into him the other night at the Johnson City Field Days, where he was plotting some sort of mischief, but not actively involved in anything quite yet.

So I'm sitting here thinking about these people I have these obligations to...

And I'm sitting here thinking about wanting to run away...

WHY does this have to be so mutually exclusive? There's an echo of absolutism in everything I want. Helena stays in Binghamton to make her family and friends happy, and gets STUCK here indefinitely. Or, Helena disappears into the wild blue yonder and lets everybody down.

So, Helena, you naughty, irresponsible thing, who's going to take care of your bird if you disappear? Who else in the world knows his Neil Young fettish? Or, for that matter, about the AC/DC and Enya things? Regardless of who'd be around to feed him -- for I've no doubt that someone would feed him -- who would CARE about him?

Where on earth would my mom find another daughter? I mean, not to say I've always been all that great to my mom, and not to say that she can't cook for herself or have interesting conversations with dozens of other people, but I think it might mean something to her, as it does to me, to be in the company of someone similarly gutsy. My brother too... I love that kid. I love both my brothers. I think maybe John needs me a little bit more than Joseph does, which is probably not very much, but... Who'd take the little dweeb on "safe" adventures, and let him eat uncooked Ramen noodles, and slap him five for carrying on an old legacy (insert censorship here) that Aaron and I claim to have begun...?

And who'd tell my grandparents dumb watered-down stories about falling into faraway rivers, and drop on them little meaningless facts and figures (the specific height of the Space Needle?) that they seem to enjoy so much?

WHY do I have to feel so guilty about all of this nonsense?

WHY do I have to care so much?

Aaron wrote a thing recently about being an adult, and about not liking it. Well, I have a few things to add.

Being an adult means there's nobody there to peek into your room at night and make sure you're sleeping soundly. It means that when you're sick, you're on your own, and you have to find your own muddled way to the doctor. It means that when you get fired from your job, you're going to get handed a ten dollar bill and a smile and an "I know you'll be okay," but you're not going to get offered an indefinite supply of food or shelter. Nobody's going to comb the papers with you, circling ads. Nobody's going to take you out on a Monday morning to find a job. Nobody's going to drive you home at night from your college class, and you're probably going to have to walk, unless you can find some nice classmate to hit on in return for rides.

Being an adult means you don't have to eat breakfast in the morning if you don't want to. But it also means you might not have the money to buy yourself cereal if you DO want to. It means you get to go out with whomever suits your fancy at the moment, but it means nobody's going to give you quality advice when you realize you have no fucking clue what you're doing...

So here I am, on my own. I've been here for a long, long while now, and I'm still caught in between. Do I want freedom from everything, or do I want Friday night dinners with my mom? Do I want to buy a backpack and an atlas and try to find that lovely little spot in Virginia where my bus stopped a year ago? Or do I want to sit in my room with my bird on my shoulder playing with my necklace?

I'd like to just not care all that much.

That's it.

~Helena*