In drama, we learned about the symbolism of the seasons.
I don’t remember exactly what winter stood for, but I remember getting upset when my drama teacher told the class that winter was when love died.
In psychology, we learned that most suicides are in the winter, and seasonal depression is frequently directly correlated with winter.
Winter is my favorite season so I winced when I heard about the reality that statistics and years of study has created and affiliated it with.
Winter brings the most hardships, but it has also brought the most growth.
If you weren’t so damn concerned about structure and writing for an audience, you’d realize, writing everything down to get it out, to express yourself, does more for yourself than it ever will for anybody else.
Don’t worry about the structure, the perfect rhyme schemes, the grammar, or the need for underlying, analytical sophistication.
Just write for yourself and be done with it.
People can say I suck at writing, but I can also say “fuck you,” because it’s not for them.
Today, I took my nephew out to the bus stop.
He’s been really happy I’ve been home because I can do little things like this-bring him out to the bus stop, pick him up, keep him company, etc.
I can tell he has a big fear of people leaving him, since he has some shitty people in his life that created this fear, and can’t stabilize it.
I don’t even want to get into his dad or mom. They’re both piece of shits to me. I’m sorry, bring a child into this world, and fucking raise it. And when I say raise it, that includes necessities, being there for them, and lifting their fucking spirits-not creating irrational fears in their young minds.
Whenever anybody in our family goes somewhere, he goes in panic mode, asking us where we’re going. I always feel bad when I’m going somewhere, especially when I leave to go back to college.
He’s in a special class because he functions a little slower than other kids, so he takes a separate bus at a different time. I’m pretty sure he’s in a class full of kids like this, some who are also autistic. (With that being said, I don’t give a fuck what class he’s labeled into, he’s the brightest to me).
When he was getting picked up, he didn’t recognize his bus, so he clung onto me and frantically said, “That’s not my bus.”
I don’t know why I’m getting emotional over this, but for a second, I was scared as well, until I looked at the bus driver and recognized him. The lady that was working was new as well, so I guess that’s why I freaked out a bit on the inside. But she knew his name and explained the bus change, so my worries eased a bit. It took a bit convincing, but he finally gave me a good-bye hug, got on the bus, and waved good-bye.
Not sure as to why I was thinking about it, but I was thinking about the recent event at Sandy Hook. I’m grateful that my nephew gets to school there and home safely. I can’t even imagine how scared the kids probably were in a time of unfamiliarity and panic. When my nephew clung onto me, I was like…shit…man…………………….
This world we live in….
I’m going to get off my lazy ass, dress up, and go chill with some good friends. I need the company.
All the regrets tomorrow morning will shower over me as I help my nephew get dressed for school.
Whenever I’m having a good time, in the brief seconds of happiness, I remember how you’re not here and
Because you deserve to be here. You should be here.
“You’ll be the most alive dead person I will ever know, I promise,”
I joked as we were walking home.
You let out a huge sigh and then chuckled,
“I better be.”