I started blogging thinking that this is where I would review whatever media I felt like ranting about. It quickly changed direction. So this is my online diary. Comments are welcome.
We shared a room when we were kids.
Jumped bed to bed because the floor was lava.
We made pillow forts and haunted houses when we had bunk beds.
Ghostbusters and Ninja Turtles.
Wrestle mania, Brother.
We had robots on border wallpaper around the middle of the room.
Mom used to yell at us to "GO. TO. SLEEP!"
Laughing at stupid jokes and farts.
Remember when we’d throw that old football pillow across the room at each other in the dark?
Remember the owl that nested in the big tree outside our window?
You would get sick sometimes and couldn’t breathe.
That was scary.
So sometime Mom or Dad would sleep in our room with us.
Then, when I was going into 4th grade, you into 3rd, we moved…
We got a bigger room!
Same color yellow.
More room for toys, desks, and whatever.
Your army men we tied to plastic bags and pretended they were parachutes.
They'd float to the ground from our second story window.
Neighborhood kids slept over.
Bill, who never went home.
We got a big stereo for Christmas that one year.
No Doubt, Tragic Kingdom, All-4-One, Buckshot LeFonque.
Music filled our souls and every corner of our room.
But the street light was always too bright in our window.
And there was traffic all night.
The sounds and lights of emergency vehicles was scary at first.
But to this day, when I need to find a peaceful place in my head, I think about our room and being curled up on my bed; and gazing at the traffic light down the block.
The last time we shared a room, I was almost in high school, and you had to leave with Mom.
Our room was too big when you were gone.
All the space we made for fun things felt cold and useless.
My bad dreams came more often.
I just wanted things back to normal; when we were kids and our knees had scabs on them.
When night-time wasn’t scary because you were there with me.
I didn’t want my own room even though at one point I might have said I did.
Our house was too empty without our family.
Our room wasn't crowded enough.
We have always been close.
I haven’t had to do anything alone. Ever.
You are my best friend.
I know it wasn’t always perfect.
I know there are things I regret doing or saying.
I can’t take any of it back.
I hope you don’t resent me in any way, because this, better than anything, is what I remember about growing up.
Sharing a room with you.
I probably couldn't count how many times I've said I'm going to do something only to end up running out of steam, or completely abandoning a project. My point is that I don't want this to be one of those. I want to continue to write. I have other writing projects in mind, and running out of steam on this one will derail all the rest. I know, it's easy to think, "so do it.", or "write more often." And I do think like that.
What I can't figure out is if I'm doing it right. I get on here and plug out some of my thoughts that I'm honestly not sure if anyone reads. But is that why I should do it anyway? Is the uncertainty the reason I don't do it as often as I figured I would? Is it something else? Maybe I haven't found my voice yet. Maybe I don't know what I want to say. It's all that and more I think.
I did have a reason to write today though. I have to say some things to someone who is very close to me. He's going through a really rough thing right now, and to him it seems so sudden and out of nowhere.
I understand that things were going so great in your life. I've been right here with you the whole time. I've also been on the outside of all of this, and bracing for impact. I love you, brother. You never have to hide how you're feeling from me. You don't have to put on your paper mask and pretend. Mostly because I can see right through it. I know this sucks. I actually know that it isn't just the one thing, but that a lot of things are eating away at you now. It was easy to shoulder the small bits while you were floating on clouds, but this is a catalyst for negativity now. Pick yourself up. Look around you. Notice the pieces still left in place. Brush them off good and hold your head high kid, you're doing fine.
We talked about it recently. About how great things are going for you. Remember that I told you to remember what it felt like to be down and out. Hopefully you took a moment to think about that. To think about a time when we were so broke a cheese sandwich was a meal. To think about the handful of times neither one of us had reliable transportation and had to rely on the hospitality of others. And to think about what it felt like to suddenly be without a place to sleep at night. Things haven't always been up in the clouds for you man, but looking back you can see they've been much worse.
I'm not on here to air your laundry. I haven't mentioned anything too personal. Besides that, anyone who knows you already knows everything about you. You're an open book, my friend. And this small thing that has you twisted up is just an ellipsis at the end of a chapter that is to be continued.
I discovered reading and writing for fun when I was in the 4th grade and I haven't been able to stop. I discovered my musical talent when I was 12 and started a band with my brother and my best friends. I have been on a journey of discovery that has shaped and molded my tastes for music, reading, writing, art, food and extracurricular activities since I was a high school freshman. And I'm not quite finished, so come along.