Time feels warped with the rise of covid cases. I’ve got so many assignments to do but somehow they all don’t make sense. Everything feels disjointed. I feel panic but the fatigue is so overwhelming that I would just prefer to sleep. Oddly enough, my skin has cleared up despite the stress of uni, someone even suggested I was ‘glowing.’
I think about my dad really often these days. I question if he just drank too much or if he was an alcoholic. Since I never drink and have no clue what it’s like to be drunk, I don’t think I’ll ever have an answer to this. We all need to find our own source of comfort somewhere I suppose, no matter how destructive that may be. We all have free will and agency.
A river, the sound of crickets, a shed full of firewood.
One summer my mum and I went cherry picking on our farm. I had climbed to the top of the ladder, despite my fear of heights, with my mum holding a bucket so I could drop all the plump cherries for collection. My memory is vague of that summer but it is the only time in my adult life that I can remember being with my mum and dad since I was 13.
I will always love my dad, but it is a unique kind of love. It’s not necessarily one of deep gratitude or unconditional love. Although I appreciate his work ethic, his determination to overcome adversity and the fact he instilled in me a love for learning at a very young age, there’s still resentment that comes along with a relationship that has been tumultuous on account of our resembling stubborn attitudes and unwillingness to compromise.
Our family unit was fractured from the start. Nothing could ever happen without a fight occurring and although I could tell my parents loved each other, children had only added pressure and strain to their marriage.
Being single and alone forever doesn’t look too bad at this point.