I’m in a Blue Mood, so this is pretty self-indulgent angst. Nothing exciting, outside of some deity-baiting and blasphemy.
The weather has been kindly supporting my descent into a blue period, beginning yesterday evening. It’s still cold for March. Sping Breakers run around town in down-filled jackets rather than flip-flops, and the sky is grey. A wonderful weekend with family in Atlanta had an emotional hangover of coming back to the rental home away from these people that I do like, that I’ve never really known. Our family is spread all over the US – from California to Florida – and we never see one another. I met two cousins I didn’t know I had for the first time. And you know, we clicked instantly. Family is something that I’ve always wanted; for years growing up I kept hoping Mom and Dad would produce a little brother or sister for me. Matthew and I were more than enough trouble on our own, though – Matthew with his autism and seizures and low-functioning difficulties, me with my unfocused ambitions and moods of aesthetic despair when the world wasn’t to my exact liking.
The world is currently not to my exact liking. It’s a mood, and it’ll pass, but right now I can see the future stretched before me, fixed as coordinates of a physical destination. There are so many things about myself that I want to change: my hobbies, my hair color, my weight, my art, my living situation, my personality. And it’s not that I’m self-loathing or anything like that, but I feel that I need a change. I’m settling myself down into a vat of maple syrup and I don’t want to wake up one day and discover I’m in my forties and in the exact same spot that I was ten years before.
To add a little variety to this moody blues, my cat, Sam, is dying. She’s six weeks older than Bear, our cat who died a month ago. It’s such a ridiculous kick in the ass. I know she’s old, I know it would have to happen sometime, but goddammit, neither of my parents’ two cats is going to make it to the new house. Mom and Dad have been through so much shit. And then there’s this.
It’s insult to injury after the past few months of nonstop drama. I told Sarah the other day that I’d never been a believer in God, and I’m not really still, but if there is a God, I’m angry with him. I said it jokingly, but it’s absolutely true. If there is a God, I would defriend him on Facebook. I’d ignore his text messages. And if he wrote an apology to me, I’d send it to my spam filter so quickly that Gmail itself would stutter. I’m a little frightened writing that, because I was raised in the Southern Baptist old-school style of “devil behind every bush” and “vengeful God” and all that, but seriously, what else can he do to my family? He’s already struck our house with lightning. So in short: bring it, quasi-fictional creator. We’re in a fight.
It’s probably better if there isn’t a God. At least this wouldn’t feel so personal.
I’ll be glad when this mood – and the weather – blows away.