for you and me

Six Feet Under. PBJ bars from Trader Joes. Meg books. Torrenting. Aladdin soundtrack stuck in my head. Hitting the snooze button on my over time days. Arranging payday. Movies by myself. Movies with him. Instagram pumping. Spaghettios in front of the TV. Swiss Family Robinson. Drinking at the pool.

Sometimes when I'm doing things like cooking dinner or walking through Walmart or running errands, flashes of our life will pop in my head. Usually it is when I'm out and about because the entire goddamn city and the suburbs around us are studded with mines of memory, and they light up the front of my brain like China from space. It's always the good memories, and when that happens I just keep pushing on, because there's nothing I can do but that.

Despite my inclination to be negative (i prefer 'realist' but people like to live with their heads up their asses and prefer getting blindsided) I can't help but to have this feeling like no matter what I do, if things are going to work out, they're going to work out. There's this odd certainty that I will end up where I'm supposed to end up, and that's strange because I'm never certain about anything, only that everything is uncertain. But when those flashes come, it creates a vacuum inside of me, and in the wake of that vacuum I can't help but to think that I'll never have that life again.

I'll say it-I was spoiled. But I didn't stay for ten years because we were taking nice vacations and buying anything we wanted. If money was the only thing keeping me there, I would have stayed no matter how unhappy I was. Of course it's hard, going from a life where you have security and grocery money and chances to take vacations to wondering if you can get a flat of water if you go through your car and extract all of the change and seeing pictures of all the places you've ever wanted to go and the places you've been and wondering if you'll ever see them. But my feeling of security was never really there because I was more financially stable, my security was always there because I was part of something. The part of me that keeps me honest keeps whispering in my ear, "You deserved this, you need to stop being so fucking spoiled and struggle for awhile, you had it easy for ten goddamn years and it's time for you to pay the fucking piper." I've always been materialistic, not afraid to admit that. I've always liked nice art and bath bombs and little knicknacks and bath stuff and electronics, and I always gathered these things because for some stupid reason, I always imagined someone in the future looking at pictures of me and all the things behind me and thinking, "So that's who she was." I know, it's ridiculous. As if stuff defines me. Or maybe I just see everything through the lens of a camera. It's just one of those stupid involuntary thought processes one can't rid themselves of. It's not a very practical one either, seeing as though I don't like being in front of a camera anyway.

All this stuff I've accumulated, not just the stuff I picked up during the last ten years or even throughout my life, doesn't really make up the building blocks of who I am. Sure, I decorated my various rooms and my office to reflect my personality, but that's not all I am. At least, I hope it's not. I don't want to be just Rae Landry, consumer of bullshit.

The memory flashes-some of them are reoccurring, and for whatever reason I always think of driving up through Lynchburg, that beautiful country, on the way to the distillery. It's just a flash, really, but in that flash, there's everything. My brain gets stuck on these things, like a record that skips. I've never had much patience for emotions that don't serve a purpose, and I'm not sure what these flashes are supposed to do other then make me sad, but I know that in every little 'flash', it's of a moment where I felt secure, and happy, and not just because my bank account looked better than it does now.

I guess this happened so I could create my own feeling of safety, which I'm guessing will come in due time. I guess my ass is broke so I can learn not to put so much importance on material things. The longer I'm on my own the more I realize it was always going to come to this, no matter what we could have done.

That whole sense of 'no matter where I go, I'll end up where I'm supposed to be' is throwing me off. I don't trust the universe, especially right now, and to have that sort of conviction is making me extremely nervous. I have no control over it, it just popped up out of nowhere one day and I can't tell it it to fuck off. I know, I know, why can't I just accept it for what it is?

I'll tell you why-because the universe is a dick, and I'm not ever going to trust it. Sometimes it reminds me of that bully in high school who knocks you down and tells you, "I won't hurt you if you just stay down."

Enough of this philosophical garbage. Mom booked our trip to Disney and I put my dates in at work. I have a long weekend, which will be nice. The weather is supposed to be perfect for swimming, and when I get home today I plan on packing and washing clothes. I feel pretty bad that Jack will be on his own Sunday night, but I'll leave the TV on and lots of food and water. He was being very sweet and snuggly last night.

back to work.

-Rae