Thursday
1/14/99
No, it's not the continuation of Tuesday's porn... But look for that later. This is some of the beginning of my dissertation on life. Or, more specifically, my life. I dunno. Tell me what you think. Or don't.
I hate finals!
It was an era too romantic to last, a point in my life which shaped the very being which I have become.
I write, now, 15 years and about 7 months old, as my father is on the telephone in the kitchen speaking in a love and sultry voice to some woman who is very obviously not my mother. The tv is on, and although Father is in the kitchen, it will stay on until he either retires to his room, or leaves dressed in his nicest shirt and jeans, wearing the cheap cologne I bought him for Christmas, to "go to the gym."
I can understand where my father is coming from. My mother was beautiful, once, and perhaps she still is. I don't fit into her wedding dress (she was married at the age of thirty-five, by the way), and that pulls on me every time I stop to think about it. My boobs are smaller than her's ever were, and my hips much bigger. That is not to mention my 32 inch waistline. Yet people say we look alike, and Father often calls me "Boobo," the nickname he had picked out for my mother before things started going bad.
If she smiled genuinely or wasn't so spiteful of him all the time, they might get along. But my mother, after having gone through an early menopause, needed no sexual relations at all starting about 5 years ago, and removed herself from the "parents' bedroom," and moving to the guest room, which had before that time been dubbed Grandma's room.
I say that I understand where my father is coming from, because he has not yet settled into the abstinancy that most older people slip into and come to accept. He is over 50, but still feels the sexual drive. Being of the age of raging hormones, I understand this want of sexual relations, the need to be close to somone. Mother has denied him of that most basic urge.
He has found his way to deal with life.
Why, do you ask, have I wasted so much time speaking of my family? I should like to forget them, and move on, delve right into this dissertation which shall be my confession and explanation of all of my theories on life and, hopefully, my finest work so far at this point in my life. I should like to get straight to the meat and controversy and years of working prose. I should like to simply move past these tremulous periods in my life, and move on to those things which do not pain me to talk about. But family is where you begin, and, eventually, where you end. I am grateful that I have family, two adults living in my house to have been fed by and taken to and from school, and pushed, from the very beginning, in my academics.
My father was a scholar-athlete. He wasn't valedictorian, but one of his brothers was, and they both went into the sciences and mathematics, after my granfather who was known national in the field. He didn't have the best grades, and quit after only a year of college to join the military, specifically the marines. Because of his aptitude for math, and his want not to go to 'Nam, they sent him back to college. They paid for his books and sent him to special classes to learn Bulgarian. He called his father who, or so I've been told, immediately started laughing and said, or so I've been told, "Vince, English is your second language!"
He remained in the military his twenty years before retiring. But not before he was married several times. I am not sure how many wives he has had, to state the absolute truth. He had at least one marriage, with a woman named Becky and perhaps several others, that ended in divorce before he married another woman and bore a daughter, the half-sister whom I have not had contact with since before she graduated several years ago. I don't remember, time has merged into a mush in my head. No matter, they were divorced while the child was very young and Father was based in Hawaii. The mother couldn't stand the island.
Father quickly remarried, this time with my mother. Back then she was skinny and nimble and energetic. Father said that he married her because they could run and go camping together. Not once has he gone camping with us.
I was born while he was based in Okinawa, Japan. My sister, born a year and a half later, was delivered in Virginia. We were moved to 29 palms before Father was freed of the responsibility of the title "Captain V. G. DePierre."
We moved down here, to Las Vegas, this burning gathering pool of evil and corruption which I have grown to love, into a house which apparently Dolly Parton owned at one point, these walls which I have been confined within for so long.
- fallen
previous thoughts of the day
Knee-high, Leather, 6 inch Heels
Jesus
I'm doubting everything lately... rohandor
Pride noiraranea
"I am woman" dollpini
the Dream Train
excerpts
I Do Not Want This... by Trent
There once was a little girl... 2 (y'all better read this one...)
Everything
Thank You
Wrestling Woman Inards
School and Psychoanalysis...
Vengeance!!!
Brandon
listening to Bush and feeling sassy...
There once was a little girl.... 1
I want to believe
Timing by rohandor
...for you have left your first love.
On Love
the Mystical, Magical Land of Algebra2
Something Wicked This Way Comes
What does one do?
Cold Sweat Nightmares
Hate Me
Personal Inventory by Dollphini
First Contact, with Kyle
:::whispers::: Lime-Green Elephant
"They say that sex between two people who really hate each other..."
Boys are Yucky
What happens if we all fall down?
Vegas
BluesMan84
Politics and Wealth
The Nature of God
The Nature of Man
Beauty
Only the Good Die Young by Dollphini
Ode to Shawn
poetry
the embrace
about me
links
© 1998 UrielsPoet@aol.com
Get your own Free Home Page