December 21, 2003 - 9:14 pm
So I was in the bathroom earlier (if you have to ask, you'll never know), and I decided to take a look at a 6 or so page lettery thing on the floor next to the toilet. It was a mailing of some sort, and after a few paragraphs I realized that it was in the right place, as shit quite properly belongs in the bathroom.
It was an "American is under attack, Teh Gays are gonna gitcha" type thing from Doctor James Dobson. Look him up, he's a blast.
I mean, I love my family, and it's no secret that we disagree on some very fundamental things, but most of the time it doesn't matter, because we just accept that fact and tease each other about the high possibility that at least one of us was switched at birth.
There are certain things I expect from my sister. Specifically, as such a devout Christian, I expect her to be appalled by her children watching certain shows on television. I expect her to support political candidates that appeal to her belief that the Bible as the ultimate handbook to living. I also expect her to say grace before each meal and try to get me to come to church with her whenever possible, because she believes that it might do me some good.
I expect people to be different from me, and none of this stuff really bothers me. In fact, it's kind of refreshing to see how the other half lives, you know? The conservative to my liberal, the right to my left, the Hannity to my Colmes.
But sometimes I hear things that just spook me. Like using "they" versus "us" in talking about people who are not foreign-born Christians, and complaining about the "American Way" (i.e. a world based on Protestant beliefs) being under attack by this "they" group. Or this whole James Dobson letter on how the gays were making advances in leaps and bounds and your family is NEXT!!! *eek* Creepy. Sometimes I point it out and she backs down, explaining it away as something much less hatemonger-ish...but sometimes it's like Pat Buchanan had possessed her for just a moment and it gives me the heebie jeebies.
What it comes down to is the fact that I respect and love all of the good things about my sister and her family to try to not confront them and argue every opinion they have. I just don't have enough faith in my communication skills to believe I can explain the scale of disagreement to outright disgust I feel for some of those attitudes without sounding like I feel the same way about them. So I abstain from offering my own views unless solicited. It makes me feel like a pussy, in a way, because I even though I make it clear that I'm not going to agree, I don't bother to back my views unless absolutely necessary, but I also know that we will never see eye to eye on some of those things, so as long neither of us is goign to bend, why bother? But that need to keep the peace is becoming heavier and heavier on me, and I really need some alone time. I also need coffee with Karen and Tabi, and racy movies with drugs, sex, and swearing. I need to read a Michael Moore book and shake my fist at the injustice I see in right-wing politics. I need to get in a good argument with someone I DON'T respect.
At this very moment I feel surrounded, and I stand by that statement with both its positive AND negative interpretations.
I love my family, I really truly do, but they don't have four days worth of space for me, at least not as I really am. The first two days I spent here were absolutely lifesaving for me, but I don't know if it's that my sister doesn't realize that there's a side of me that holds drinking martinis, swearing, and drinking coffee and talking about the three p's (pornography, poetry, and politics) into the wee hours in high regard, or if she understands the need I have to just get away from the hustle (e.g. bustle) of the life I life 360 days of the year. But that part of me that loves quiet evenings with family, watching children-friendly movies, and not answering my phone isn't strong enough to survive for a whole week straight. I feel understimulated and disconnected. Those two parts of me are too different, and break is too short, and today I left the house for the first time since I had gotten here and more than anything else I am NOT adjusting well to this new medication (can't you tell?) and I'm afraid my liver's going to explode and I'm going to die without realizing that I'm really dying and I just wanna scream about something, so why not this?
Then again, even though I spent this morning listening to a very nice sermon that occasionally reminded the audience that us non-Christians were "a heartbeat away" from a horrible fate, I also came back here to make a spongebob squarepants "Squandarium" with my nephew, and have him look at me with the most miserable eyes and hold his needly little arms up to be held when he came down with a fever later that evening.
Wow, that was a lot. I just that it's funny that I'm in a house with 5 other people but still feel really alone. Then again, this happened as soon as they went to bed. Maybe this medicine is making me worse.
