dancing. shouting. doing other great things in the process.

Hoo boy. This is a doozie. In this corner we have my mother, who is deceased. And in this corner, we have my father, whom I barely know, despite invading his personal space with my insanity and my cats. Neither is particularly easy to write to, and this may result in something of a short letter. Apologies in advance.

Parents –

It’s hard to address you in one lump, because you were never one lump for me. My earliest memories are me being around kindergarten age, and you weren’t together then. I don’t know what happened; I have my ideas, pieced together from context clues, but I’ve never asked either of you outright. I’m not even sure I want to fully know. I just know that you’ve always been separate entities.

I enjoyed it this way, to be perfectly honest; I liked only having a father during summer months. It seemed easier, and normal for me. It never really occurred to me to attempt an actual relationship because, well, it seemed pointless. My ability to form relationships with people is in close relation to the amount of time I see said person; out of sight, out of mind basically. It isn’t an intentional diss; I operate this way with the vast majority of relationships I have.

Mom, you did what you could. I’m selfish, spoiled, immature, and kind of a loon. And you put up with that up until the end. We had our differences…a LOT of differences. But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t trade moms with anyone else in the universe. We weren’t especially close, in the sense that you didn’t know much about me and vice versa. But in our own weird way, we were great friends. Your sense of humor was divine; no one else I know can be quite so carefree about making a spectacle of themselves as you were. I envied that; for every time I scolded you for acting strange in public, I secretly wished I had the nerve to do the same. I don’t want to disappoint you. I’m sorry if I am. I hope where you are, you’re happy. And I apologize for sticking your ashes in my closet but somehow, I think you’d find it morbidly amusing. I’m going to make movies, Mom, and I wish you were around long enough to see them.

Dad, it feels awkward calling you Dad. I don’t think I’ve ever done it. I never know how to address you; calling my mom Bettye seemed normal but calling you Keith just feels off. We don’t know anything about each other. I know you’d like that to change, and in the next few months, maybe it will. I may as well try, right? It’s frustrating to think of all the times I’ve been told to just call, as though I avoid contact purely out of laziness. In fact, I don’t call anyone because more often than not, I can’t. But that’s a lengthy mental health rant that shouldn’t be in a letter. In any case. I do hope we learn a bit more about each other in the coming months. I could not be more appreciative of you giving me a place to stay. I apologize on the front end if I do nothing but hide in a room and stare blankly. I promise, it’s not you, it’s me.

With all the moving and trying to be settled and getting lost in the city and yadda yadda, I’m a bit late to start. So, I’ll post two letters today. And eventually I’ll whip up a post about moving.

BFFs –

And we’re already off to a rough start. I realize that this is a question that a lot of people can answer easily, but I have, as of late, had a difficult time assessing who my best friend is. What qualifies? Is it a person you talk to regularly? The person that knows the most about you, even if you don’t necessarily speak much anymore? Someone that understands you well, but you might not necessarily be that close? I honestly don’t know right now. And I don’t think it’s ever as simple as it might seem. I have several people that I feel are very very good friends, and I hope they feel the same about me. I’m kind of over making distinctions. I love them all for different reasons. So. I’ll just write a collective note.

I don’t know how to write this. I suppose a fitting place to begin would be saying thank you. Each and every one of you has helped me with random crises and moments of weakness, and I can’t help but be super grateful for that. I have a lot of moments in which I am less than sane, and you have worked well to edge me back toward normalcy. I try to be there for you as well, but admittedly sometimes I get it wrong. I sometimes am not so good at the giving part of relationships; I’m working on it. I hope I’m getting slightly better. Just let me know if I’m not.

When I was younger, I always imagined that people had best friends the way they do on television. You know, with happy little groups and fun adventures and freeze frame endings. I spent a fair amount of my youth striving for that. And I would find it, in brief moments, and it was glorious. But then the frame unpauses and things just go awry. With that kind of disappointment, I’ve always felt I was doing friendships wrong. At this point, I understand that that’s not how close friendships in the real world usually work. Once I’ve resigned myself to knowing that, I think I feel a bit better about relationships with other people.

There are things I could say to each of you individually, but I think I’ve said it all already. I just want to make sure that you know that I care, even if I don’t always show it. You all mean quite a large amount to me, and I like to think that I mean just as much to you. My one complaint is that I don’t get to spend as much time with any of you as I’d like, or any time at all in many cases. Therefore, you all need to cater to my needs and come see me.