2002-06-12 10:35 a.m.
State of the Empire Address

Last night, the distance from my family hit me for the first time in a while. As I've said before, the remains of the Empire (my family's, not Darth's) have seen better days.

Dad's just filed Chapter 13 (something he told me when he offered his business to me � great selling point, yeah?). He's not paying Mom her alimony, which coupled with problems with her ex-boyfriend, is making her feel like quite the victim.

I feel bad. I almost yelled at her last night. I can't deal with excessive victim mentalities, and she was neck-deep in it. While I was living with her, times like this, she'd eat a ton of Breyers and go to sleep. I admire that she's fighting her way through, but I think I've inherited a set of attitudes from D that I don't entirely live up to, the idea that life is about far, far more than survival. We have to be warriors (a sentiment echoed in "Floundering"), fighting for the lives we want to lead and the people we want to be. I got angry because I know how strong she can be if she'd only let go of what's hurting her, live for more than survival. It's like someone suffering from a bee sting, where the pain would leave her if she'd only just remove the stinger that's still pumping poison into her. (If you have any biological corrections to make here, shut it.)

I really do love my mom, all of my family in fact. We're a very strong group of people when we're directed and slog out of the pits we wallow in. I just want to see us all in places of strength and happiness. (The former isn't necessary, but it implies something about how one gets to the latter.)

My dad's another story. That stinger's been under his skin for most of his life, the idea that all he is and all he's worth is tied to his wallet. I still remember how huge his eyes got and the sigh he let out when I told him I was going to travel the world for most of a year on $5,000. "Why don't you take $20,000 or $30,000 and live like a fucking mensch?" he told me.

He's not even in a financial hole; he's swimming in a tide of his own failures and debts, and though he can tread water with the best of them, he's in the middle of the Atlantic. Maybe me working for him would've been the lifeboat he needs, but I'd rather he just swim until he finds a safe harbor. It's not as far as he thinks; he just has to open his eyes.

I hate judging them, but I also hate seeing them in pain. If we're all guilty of anything, it's that we're afraid of being alone. All of us, including D. (Isn't everyone at some point?)

If anyone's in Brooklyn next week, and needs to laugh, give me a shout...my friend Tabi and I are going to do our worst on a cover set...probably a long one, if they'll let me go on until I'm hoarse. I plan on bringing tons of songs.

Actually, I'm pretty jazzed about the idea of getting back onstage, rehearsals or no. It's been a long time since I did the whole bar/coffeehouse/open-mic thing...too long. Jen (one of my new roomies) gave me a funny look when I told her how strange it felt to do this. (Granted, she works at a record store.)

what I'm reading:

You Are Here by Kyle Baker (DC/Vertigo)