the midnight bark (at ten-thirty)

I was looking forward to spending some quality time, as half of America is wont to do, with my family this Thanksgiving. I was hoping my nana wouldn't repeat some of the things she said about my dad, like she has at past events.

And while no verbal stones were cast, I'm beginning to realize how far I've drifted away, and how I keep drifting away, from my mother's side of the family.

Of course I love them. Familial love is instilled in the pit of my stomach like a boulder that won't budge.

But I'm starting to see why I'm so "grumpy" at these family gatherings, as my nana likes to point out.

It was during the big group conversation that took place before the big dinner--me, my brother, my mother, my cousins, and my aunt and uncle, with my nana chiming in from the kitchen, while my grandpa kept silently carving the turkey. It was the conversation about the show I'm going to be performing in at the end of winter quarter, and how my mom kept pushing me to show everybody "those silly walks you do in Suzuki." I realized that everyone was laughing at me, or at least, that's how it felt.

And here's where the starvingartist sulks, and moans that "NOBODY UNDERSTANDS ME." I feel like they don't. I feel the real questions itching to be formed on the tongues of the adults, "But seriously, what are you doing with your life?" I was trying to tell people some good news about how I'd finally gotten a job interview for next week, and every time, my mother or my nana would chime in about how I need to dress nice, or look people in the eye. "BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT ALREADY," the all-knowing teenager says with the infamous eye-roll. My nana is constantly reminding me that I need to get an actual job to support myself once I'm out of college. (And here I was thinking we were supposed to do what we love in life. Seriously.)

Out of all of the adults in that house, I think the only person who may understand what I'm trying to achieve--in some way--is my grandfather. He has never uttered a condescending word to me my entire life, and has always been extremely supportive of both me and my brother (not that my mother hasn't, but she has poked fun at these dreams, at my expense).

Fuck, and I know this sounds like the emo girl I used to aspire to be in high school--whiny, negative, reluctant to listen to the grown-ups--but there's a reason I have an anti-social lining to my cloud the second day into these visits.

And never once has my father's side of the family ridiculed my choice in studies. If any of them have thought it was a bad choice to major in theatre and plan to make it a huge part of my life, they would have said so. Of course, they're worried about my future income--as am I, don't get me wrong--but they know I've thought things through, and if I haven't yet, I'm figuring things out. They have always been supportive of me.

God, I know. Ranting and raving 'til the dogs come home. But other than that unexpectedly good-sized thorn in my side, I did enjoy my break.

............

And one more realization sprang to mind: I miss you (of course). But my gut is getting a weird feeling. There's an aching in my bones; maybe something's brewing. Or maybe I'm just paranoid. I'm hoping it's the latter. (Severely hoping it's the latter.)

I would rather spend more time with you, right now, then with some members of my family. That sounds pretty harsh, I know, and a tad more creepy than I'm used to feeling, but there you are--feelings is feelings.

A part of me hopes that you would just tell me we need to stay friends, and just friends, nothing more, just to get it over with. Another part of me hopes that you tell me we should be more.

And a third part of me is only hoping that I get to see you over Winter Break. And that we get some alone time. (This is the part that is currently ruling.)

And a fourth is thinking you'll be just like the rest, and I'll never see you or hear from you again.

All parts lumped into two, my left brain is weighing the consequences and reading the history books and telling my right brain not to play too close to the precipice, because once I fall, this time, there may be no getting back up.

And of course, my right brain thinks base jumping sounds like a fun hobby.

............

This quarter is almost over. Thank the Sweet Baby Jesus.