So I'm 32. I have no idea if that means anything. But I'll be damned if I haven't thought about nearly every topic on the face of the globe this morning, and it's not even lunchtime.
I woke up earlier than I had planned. Thought about masturbating. Didn't. Took a long, emo shower. You know, the kind where you actually sit down in the shower and let the water fall over you like warm rain, or a tropical waterfall or sommat (yes, I use the word "summat" instead of "something" sometimes, and I'm a Southern American guy, not a Brit. Gasp. Actually, one of my internet Brit buddies insists that I'm closet Brit...but I dye grass...). It was nice, even though I woke up in a shit mood b/c of money...not gonna go into specifics, but you know how a credit card can inflate your interest if you miss a payment or go over your balance...or both. I'm not good with money, and I made some bad decisions after my separation involving credit cards. Nothing spectacularly terrible, but small things add up, and now I'm digging myself out, one kiddie sand shovel at a time.
I walked downstairs and hugged my Dad good morning. I never outgrew giving my parents affection, and I never will. I'm not sure that my dad ever hugged any man before I was born, but my mom was always so affectionate that Dad learned to be. I asked my dad if he could advance me some cash, and I'd pay him back once I got a check from a slow-paying design client, or my next regular paycheck, whichever came first. So Dad writes me the check and tells me happy birthday. I tried to tell him no, that I'd pay him back, but he said he wouldn't take it...I could see in his eyes that it would make things tight for them. I hate that. I don't ever want to feel like I'm bleeding my parents dry...that's why I need to move out soon, after I get these damn credit card /loan bills paid off. Hopefully next year, barring any unforeseen disasters. And at this point I'm about to start to look for a 2nd job to insure the expediency of that plan.
Anyway, I drove my commute, talking to my God as I tend to do when I'm upset, extremely grateful, or just need to talk. I stopped by the usual banks to withdraw money and give the ex her child support after that. Then I got to work. Things have gotten a bit better since. I've been IM bombed all morning by friends. It's hard to stay completely pissed at yourself and the world itself when so many people let you know that they care that you're alive. I realize that in a lot of ways I'm lucky. I'm not living in a cardboard box. I have all my limbs. I never go hungry. I don't wake up each morning fearing death. Overall, I'm a lucky dog. But if one can't be emo and self indulgent on one's own birthday, when can one? Some may read this blog and think that I'm whining. Maybe I am. But again, it's my birfdee and I'll whine if I want to.
So yeah, it's been almost 2 years now, barring a few months, since the divorce. It's high time I got my shit straight. I made a promise to myself this morning that I would start getting my own personal ducks in a row by next year on Oct. 3rd, the most important being finances, the second being my weight and overall health. Maybe knowing that people are holding me accountable on the intertubes (by virtue of sheer voyeurism-driven embarassment alone) will help me crank my ever-aging arse into a higher gear.
Salude,
the Design Monkey
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Remembering Nana
As of Wednesday at 2:20 pm, I have no grandmothers left on Earth. My Nana (pronounced "nah-knee"- my maternal grandmother) passed away. She lived a long, full life, but neither that knowledge nor my mental preparations for her death (she had cancer) or my excuses for not visiting her enough at the nursing home, etc., make her passing any easier.
I was sitting around and thought maybe the best way to honor Nana would be to write about her...so that's what I'm doing. Nana was a demanding mother to my Mom, but a giving sweetheart of a woman nonetheless. She was an extremely loving (as well as beloved) and devoted wife, mother, sister, aunt and grandmother.
Nana always kept an immaculately groomed mane of black curly hair, and I rarely caught a glimpse of her without her makeup in place. Any time she left the house or company was over, she was dressed to the nines. She liked to have nice things, and took a great deal of pride in the things she had, as well as herself and her family.
Due to some childhood ailments, I was spoiled rotten by Nana, who made me buffets (or "bus-says" as my baby sister later called them) to eat at my leisure in her living room as she watched "her stories." She also regularly took me to TCBY, a long-dead retail chain, to purchase me the more-than-occasional He-Man or G.I. Joe or She-Ra (the He-Men needed girlfriends...heh.) I remember many days listening to rich foreign men breaking up with ditsy blondes as I played contentedly with my Castle Greyskull action set, safely tucked between a cushy chair and a cushy couch as Nana relaxed in her chair, intent on said scoundrel and hussy.
This was, of course, after my brilliant toddler years, when (after watching far too many butt lube commercials between soap operas and "The Price Is Right") I would ask enthusiastically for "Pepper, H and H." Even then I was a victim of advertising.
Nana helped raise me. I lived most of my young childhood life at her house. This setting - an old white farmhouse, complete with red barn and surrounded by fields - was one of the things that I thank God for as an adult. I'm thankful that I had a place like that to run around in. I'm thankful that it was an idyllic picture of Southern life. It's one of the reasons I will always love South Carolina and the Pee Dee area, so matter how much I complain about artists not making enough money around here...
Nana's house was a huge one story house, with a seemingly huge attic that I never saw. Honestly, I was terrified to go up there; I was certain that some sort of ghoul or antebellum confederate ghost lurked up there, waiting to eat any unwitting children who took the time to climb on the bed in the guest bedroom, pull down the attic door, and climb up (this was well before everyone started expecting meowing Japanese children to jump at at them in attics.)
There was a little white tool shed in the front yard, a huge tree, a fake deer, and an old black metal bench. The front porch held a plethora of white rocking chairs and an old white swing, which I loved to sit in and watch the trees on the other side of the road.
The backyard was massive, leading to fields and forest (all of which I spent my youth exploring.) A tall, split cedar tree stood in the backyard, which I used to climb and play with all the time. A little white stone bench sat at its base. To this day, I still think of it first when I think of Nana's house. Then I think of the warm, comfortable den, with its painted green walls, and the bookshelves, cabinets and fireplace that were built into the right wall.
Just like the lady herself, Nana's house had a great deal of warmth, a unique style and character. I will never forget my time there, or the woman who made that time possible. A woman who loved me with a free and easy devotion, as every child should be adored by their grandparents. And it should be returned by those children as well.
I love you dearly, Nana, and we miss you terribly. I hope (and somewhere, deeply and firmly I know) that whatever you're doing right now, you know that. I hope there are lots of coral colored roses. I hope you're laughing that infectious, wonderful hooting laugh of yours for someone. Goodbye for now, Nana. I'll be seeing you later. ::blows a kiss::
- Shane
I was sitting around and thought maybe the best way to honor Nana would be to write about her...so that's what I'm doing. Nana was a demanding mother to my Mom, but a giving sweetheart of a woman nonetheless. She was an extremely loving (as well as beloved) and devoted wife, mother, sister, aunt and grandmother.
Nana always kept an immaculately groomed mane of black curly hair, and I rarely caught a glimpse of her without her makeup in place. Any time she left the house or company was over, she was dressed to the nines. She liked to have nice things, and took a great deal of pride in the things she had, as well as herself and her family.
Due to some childhood ailments, I was spoiled rotten by Nana, who made me buffets (or "bus-says" as my baby sister later called them) to eat at my leisure in her living room as she watched "her stories." She also regularly took me to TCBY, a long-dead retail chain, to purchase me the more-than-occasional He-Man or G.I. Joe or She-Ra (the He-Men needed girlfriends...heh.) I remember many days listening to rich foreign men breaking up with ditsy blondes as I played contentedly with my Castle Greyskull action set, safely tucked between a cushy chair and a cushy couch as Nana relaxed in her chair, intent on said scoundrel and hussy.
This was, of course, after my brilliant toddler years, when (after watching far too many butt lube commercials between soap operas and "The Price Is Right") I would ask enthusiastically for "Pepper, H and H." Even then I was a victim of advertising.
Nana helped raise me. I lived most of my young childhood life at her house. This setting - an old white farmhouse, complete with red barn and surrounded by fields - was one of the things that I thank God for as an adult. I'm thankful that I had a place like that to run around in. I'm thankful that it was an idyllic picture of Southern life. It's one of the reasons I will always love South Carolina and the Pee Dee area, so matter how much I complain about artists not making enough money around here...
Nana's house was a huge one story house, with a seemingly huge attic that I never saw. Honestly, I was terrified to go up there; I was certain that some sort of ghoul or antebellum confederate ghost lurked up there, waiting to eat any unwitting children who took the time to climb on the bed in the guest bedroom, pull down the attic door, and climb up (this was well before everyone started expecting meowing Japanese children to jump at at them in attics.)
There was a little white tool shed in the front yard, a huge tree, a fake deer, and an old black metal bench. The front porch held a plethora of white rocking chairs and an old white swing, which I loved to sit in and watch the trees on the other side of the road.
The backyard was massive, leading to fields and forest (all of which I spent my youth exploring.) A tall, split cedar tree stood in the backyard, which I used to climb and play with all the time. A little white stone bench sat at its base. To this day, I still think of it first when I think of Nana's house. Then I think of the warm, comfortable den, with its painted green walls, and the bookshelves, cabinets and fireplace that were built into the right wall.
Just like the lady herself, Nana's house had a great deal of warmth, a unique style and character. I will never forget my time there, or the woman who made that time possible. A woman who loved me with a free and easy devotion, as every child should be adored by their grandparents. And it should be returned by those children as well.
I love you dearly, Nana, and we miss you terribly. I hope (and somewhere, deeply and firmly I know) that whatever you're doing right now, you know that. I hope there are lots of coral colored roses. I hope you're laughing that infectious, wonderful hooting laugh of yours for someone. Goodbye for now, Nana. I'll be seeing you later. ::blows a kiss::
- Shane
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