Kids were running and playing and laughing outside my door fifteen minutes ago and I was thinking,”I was really connected to the universe when I was a kid. I miss being that connected. This is a lame life, this sitting around staring at a screen, hiding from the world in this dark apartment.” Then a door slammed so hard I felt the vibrations upstairs, sitting in my chair staring at the screen, reading e-mail (“sorry, I’ve decided not to rent the room out…hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving!”). Then a woman’s voice, a screech of pain. “Are you fucking KIDDING me?! I hate you! I fucking HATE you!” Then a man’s voice,”Not in front of the kids, okay?” A screech of tires. Then the sobbing of a kid. The kid is still sobbing.
And I was six and sobbing because my friend mocked me for missing my dad, said,”All he did was beat you with a baseball bat.” It was a belt but baseball bat sounds better.
And I was seven and sobbing and hiding in the back bedroom on xmas after watching my grandfather slam his fist into my uncle’s face.
And I was always sobbing and hiding and wishing myself into fairy tales and Disney movies and it’s hard to remember the few moments of laughter of freedom of absolute ebullience.
It’s overrated, the whole being connected to the universe business.