farther removed

For some reason, I really wanted to talk to someone at about 12:30 am last night.

But I didn't know who. Or even about what, for that matter.

And that was when I remembered that I was still in the middle of that weird transition-y, college thing that everyone goes through. You think it's basically over after freshman year and you've adjusted and all of that - but oh, no. We sophomores have weird sophomoric (ha - see what I did there?) drama of our own. I could have called a friend, I suppose. But I had had my chance with the friend I had just been with, and although I was in a similar head space then, we were watching a movie, and anyway, I just couldn't find a way to articulate what I wanted to express; I settled for a few vague comments and left feeling unsatisfied and unsure. And even though I contemplated going downstairs either of two close friends' rooms, I just decided against it. I worry about overburdening my friends, because sometimes I'm the one that feels overburdened when people share too much; I have a tendency to take on other people's problems more than I probably should. I mean, I always gladly listen and internalize things and try to help them, because I pride myself on being a really good friend, and I try to live up to that. But I didn't want someone having to just deal with me. I wanted someone who has to love me unconditionally, whose job it is to listen to my life problems...

And that was when I thought of my parents.

I used get the urge to call them to ask for advice for things a lot; I talked to them almost every day last year. But these days, it's different. In order to ask for their advice, I have to explain all of this backstory about people in my life that they barely know by name. And even when I do go through all of the details, the things I want to talk to them about are so distant and removed from their world, that by the middle of the conversation, I wonder why I bothered. How can I adequately explain my friends and the intricate dynamics and unsaid things? How can I talk about touchy issues like alcohol and sexuality and my own shortcomings and inadequacies and the fact that every day I get closer to being a legitimate adult, yet still have no idea what I'm going to be doing with my life? ...Most importantly, how can I express what I'm feeling to them if I'm not sure I even understand it myself?

I don't know, maybe I just like being all angsty and misunderstood sometimes. (It certainly serves as material for reflective blog posts...) Except that I'm sure that there are lots of other people in similar, if not the exact same situations; I'm not special. But that still leaves me with the problem of understanding myself, which, might, after all, be the most important thing missing from this situation.

Yesterday, on a thrift store excursion, I was buying a sweater, and for some reason had an intruding recollection of my mom, right before I went out one night over winter break, looking at me thoughtfully as I was putting on my coat, and remarking "I don't think I've seen that sweater on you before... is that new?" I turned my head and gave her an incredulous look - "Seriously? You're the one who bought it. It was a birthday present, remember?" "Oh yeah..." she nods thoughtfully, placing it at last. "I guess it's just weird because I don't see you come downstairs every morning any more." The friend I was with rolled her eyes and recounted a similar experience and we laughed about our parents and how they don't know us any more. Except I think there was something more to it than that, at least speaking for myself.

My parents don't know me, not due to anything they've done. It's not like they're not trying. I'm the one who's gone and changed. I'm the one who no longer lives at home, I'm the one who doesn't call them or come home as often, I'm the one in the process of trying to make plans to spend the summer somewhere other than our house in New Jersey. You should know that they rarely initiate the phone calls; it's not that they don't want to, I know, but that they're trying to give me my space and let me come to them on my terms. I don't talk to my parents nearly as often as before; maybe twice a week or so. And even then, it's mostly cursory. It isn't that I don't enjoy talking to them, but that our worlds are so far removed that I don't think any of us know quite what to say. It's not that I don't still love them, or that we're not still close. It's just really different not living with them, and seeing them every day. I know that they understand this. They are older and wiser than I am and have been through all of this before.

To deal with my feelings last night, I did something that I rarely do at college, mostly for lack of time, but also really, a lack of desire: I watched TV. I watched Desperate Housewives and Scrubs. These are the shows that my parents and I watch together when I'm at home.

Take that as you will.