I've been meaning to write here like every day this week, but just haven't had the time. Now that I have the time, I don't feel like writing at all. I feel like I ought to be writing some essay or another, and I also feel incredibly disappointed that I'm too tired to do that. I've been writing so many essays lately... I'm just dry. Even too dry for blogging - how about that?
Right now I'm staying at Ami's, because the lady who usually does is gone for the weekend. Tonight is my last night here - I've only been here since Thanksgiving, but it feels like a long time. This is the first time I've ever slept in this house - I find it funny that I'm the one staying here, since I'm the one who always avoids coming here if at all given the choice. I love Ami... it's just this house that I don't like. I know it's been two years since Papa died, but I still find myself worrying about coming into the living room and finding him lying on a gurney. That is, I did. Oddly enough, the past two days haven't really bothered me in that way. The first night, Ami and I watched the James Bond marathon until 1 in the morning. Last night, though, I came back from Ojai late (about 1:00), and this time Ami was asleep early. She always sleeps with the TV on full blast, or the radio, or something. She also sleeps with half the lights in the house on. (She's left the porch light on ever since Papa died, and it finally burned out on Wednesday. I've got to talk to Dad about getting that replaced.) Anyway, I came back and Ami was asleep, so I figured that I might as well sleep, too. Only suddenly I wasn't tired. So I sat in the living room and looked through all of their photo albums for the better part of the night. It's so weird to me that he's not here. But - and I'm not trying to sound spooky or anything - he's somehow still a very real presence in this house. I don't believe in ghosts, but I do think that it's possible that Papa can see us from Heaven and that he understands what's going on. I don't think that's far out of the realm of possibilities. Almost everything here reminds me of him - I guess that's why I don't like hanging out here, and it's probably why Ami has such a hard time leaving her room. The garage, especially, is so representative of him... it still smells like him. Or maybe he smelled like it... I don't know. They keep the water bottles and coke in there, and I've started saying "hello" to him whenever I go in and see his old car. That would never have occurred to me to do about a year ago, but it's oddly comforting now.
Anyway. Tonight's my last night. The house doesn't bother me in the same way that it used to, but I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed again.
Thanksgiving was lovely. We had almost the whole family (Beth, Jesse and KGB were absent, regrettably) and we had a grand old time. Although early in day it occurred to me that this was very likely my last Thanksgiving at home, and that made it all a bit sad. I've got a 1 in 4 chance of staying in the state, but I've got a feeling that I'll end up at one of the eastern states. Funny. Ours has always been the house where people without families came to for the holidays... and next year, I'll be one of those people, looking for one of those houses. There's something oddly fitting about that, though still sad. Ah well. All good things, you know.
Huh. There are so many lasts and firsts that are happening and are about to happen. I have my first niece. I have my first brother-in-law, and my first (and only) sister-in-law. I'm leaving in a few months for Ireland, only to come back for another few, and then leave again. This winter my family is going again to Truckee - with the exception of the newlywed Muellers - for the last time. The people who have let us use the house there since I was seven years old are finally selling it. My parents are even thinking of moving to another house which might accommodate Ami - though don't worry, I doubt that those plans will ever leave the ground. Too much stuff to move. Still, it would be strange, wouldn't it? They would have a house, the three of them, which would never be home to me or my siblings. Gosh, I do hope they never move... it sounds a bit selfish, I know, but if they did, I'd never be home again. It would be a smaller place with no room for me. The others all had the option to move back home for a while after college, but I don't know if I'll have that. Oh well. I guess that settles it - for better or worse, it's progress.
Oh! I never wrote about this... now for something completely different...
Last Monday was a strangely lovely day. I felt depressed and blah in the morning - took an eternity to find something that I felt comfortable enough to wear, you know how those days are... - and then I went to school. After acting class, my professor asked to see me and my two friends who are in the class with me. He sat us down and proceeded to say, "It's very unusual that we have Christians in this school, and I just wanted to let you three know that you've really made an impression here. So many students here are lost and angry and you can see that. But you guys have this real peace and centeredness about you that I've noticed - and others have noticed it too - and it's beautiful." He actually talked like that for a good five minutes. It was possibly the nicest surprise I've ever had. Oddly enough, though, as soon as we thanked him for what he said, I felt incredibly guilty. I don't really know how to describe it, other than that I wish I was more like the person he described me and the boys to be. It's a strange thing, but I've gotten far worse at taking compliments lately; I just don't believe them. Or I guess, more honestly, I don't think I deserve them. And then I feel horrible for not being good enough to deserve them. Still, it was an incredibly nice thing for my professor to say.
Oh, and then later - that same day, in fact - I was driving a younger girl from mime to a tutoring session (she's in my art class, and has been a bit behind, so Amelia and I planned a work-night outside of class). In the car, we were just talking and joking around and all that, and then she just looked up at me and said, "Oh, by the way, you're on my Thanksgiving list." I asked her what that was, and she said, "Every year I write a list of the things and people I'm most thankful for. You're on it."
Sometimes such nice things happen, and I feel so inadequate when I try to let people know how much they mean to me. I wanted to hug her, for example, but I was driving - so I just said "that's really sweet - thank you," and smiled the rest of the way.
For all the sad things that can happen (and do happen), it's such a frustratingly beautiful world. Frustrating because we can't understand it or what to do with it - but I guess that's part of what makes it beautiful, isn't it?
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