Going to my grandpa's house is like a time capsule full of tragedy and innocense; no matter where you look, you find the dusty remains of care-free times of misspent youth. I'm sure if those walls could talk, they wouldn't-- they'd scream bloody murder. It's not that I hate the holidays per se, it falls more along the lines of recent holidays paling in comparison to the holidays of old. It wasn't always so that I had to spend half my day at a nursing home, to later dine to the tales of how things used to be so blithe and wonderful. I am severely lacking in family, as they are scattered all along the eastern and western seaboard. I was never too shy to admit that family is and was very important to me, well, at least my mother's side of the family. I used to be ecstatic the day before a holiday and I had looked forward to it for what felt like eons-- I was able to see the few people that actually cared about me and kept it no secret. A family. A single unit, functioning at peak performance, though my family was never perfect, in fact, they were quite insane, but it was just the togetherness that I pine for. It's difficult for me, to say the least. I never needed anyone's helping hand in directing me into full-blown negative nostalgia; I'm quite capable of that all by my lonesome. Not only do I get a helping hand into the flames, I also get a chauffer and a red carpet, too. Fanciness, face first into the burning furnace of yesterday. "The floor dropped out after Grandma died," he said to me, and I couldn't disagree because there was an abundance of evidence to prove this to be so. And in turn, I sat, closed my eyes and tried as hard as I could to wish her back to life; to bring everything back from the dead. She was such a staple to everything that was so important to me-- to everything I looked forward to. When she left us, it all began to unwravle, and it felt like in a single whorl of a spiral, everything was dead and gone, like this grey wave just encompassed 79 Cherry St.
Thanksgiving Ghosts
10:31 p.m.//11.25.04
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