soapboxdiner

Suburban indifference

Christmas day. Beautiful and sunny and warm and bright. Filled with sweet smells, savory. Filled right now with a quiet lull in the house. The boys are out to breakfast at Mr. T's sister's condo. I'm here cooking and listening to Ms. Badu on the media player, reminiscing on the fluidity of one's life. Change and time and circumstance, misfortunate and stupid, aimless luck. Will to overcome, drive for serenity. I think about how all these things intermingle to create patterns and outcomes.

I guess I'm blessed. Steven's father has come around, visiting and calling and giving and sharing with his son. Never thought that would happen. Making demands and contemplating the perceptions of others in regard to his lack of presence for the past decade. That I expected though. I watch my son's amazing capacity for love and forgiveness.

Mr. T and his endless opinions on everything from my parenting style to how I do (or don't) wear my slippers. The ceaseless arguements with Steven. So filled with strive, I shut down and grab my instantly aching head, silent in a corner feeling trapped in the situation, yet knowing if I wanted a change, every last aspect of my life would change for the worse.

I remember longing, yearning, aching for a man to love who loved me, too. I remember wanting my life to be filled with intriguing conversations and goofy kisses leading down under. I remember that and I laugh to myself at how foolish that dream was. Now I lay, dry as a bone and plan my days as he huffs and grunts on top of me. Oh yeah, baby. That's it. You got it, daddy. Give it to me good, baby.

But it's all a compromise, isn't it?
Companionship and a shared life. Someone to lean on and count on. Someone who depends on me. Whatever.

Funny, because I never imagined indifference in love.

12:39 pm - 12.25.06
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