Tagged: Lady Gaga

Truly Madly Deeply

Dear Megan,

I guess we haven’t spoken in a while.

Do you still live in Austin?

How’s your brother?

I hope Becky and Mike are doing alright.

I moved to Houston or moved home or same difference. I never imagined being back here like this but that just goes to show you my lack of imagination. Austin was not working out like I had planned and after nine years I finally decided just to leave. I wanted a change. I will no doubt return, in fact I go back all the time, but not to live not just yet.

I was adrift and I was not getting any closer to anywhere I wanted to be. I remember when you had your apartment off Gracy Farms we would sit and smoke together on the balcony. We used to talk about all the different lives we could have. You hadn’t been in Austin long and I was getting restless. Actually I’m alway restless, you were too. That’s why you moved to Austin and that’s how I ended up here.

I wasted so much time thinking and talking about how much better my life could be but I never thought to do anything about it.

My parents have lived in this house for over thirty years. When they brought me home from the hospital this was my room. My same room except now I share it with an industrial safe full of guns and ammunition and a statue of Baby Jesus.

Catholic guilt is alive and well here at home. Relics, portraits of Saints, the Holy Family and grown up Jesus all smother the walls. Signs of a strong faith I suppose or perhaps a makeshift sanctuary from all the evils closing in on us every second of every day. Or at least I’ve always been lead to believe as much.

My Dad is not wrong. The world is a scary place, but I do not see the point in reminding the people you love the world has gone to shit and it’s only a matter of time until it shits on you too.

I’m afraid you win, so now what?

I sound ungrateful because I am. My parents have made many sacrifices for me over the years, financial and otherwise. But I still make it up here on my high horse to trash talk them because I am not too keen on their parenting decisions, like I know any better.

What an asshole, right?

My parents may not always say what I want to hear but they almost never tell me no. And whether or not they wanted me back at home, they let me move back in. But I worry about them a lot.

I’m just not sure they are as happy as they could be and I wonder whose fault that is. Most days they seem perfectly content with their lives but other days they seem so sad. I look forward to my Mom retiring so they can travel more and go on adventures together.

I’m still serving. I work in midtown now but I can’t say I enjoy it much. Don’t get me wrong I am grateful to even have a job, especially this one. Ibiza is the most kush serving gig I’ve ever had.

The bussers always have your back, food is good, and the money is great. My heart just isn’t in it. But my bills don’t give a shit what my heart has in mind so in the meantime that is exactly where I’ll be or at least until I get certified. I want to be a teacher.

I always thought I would teach at some point. Before I just rationalized that I was not ready but now I feel I should at least attempt this feat. I do not mean to sound shaky, even though I am, all I mean is I have my work cut out for me. But I am determined to stop serving and do some kind of meaningful work.

I’ve waited hand and foot on people for almost 14 years. All I do is watch and wait on strangers. The only stimulating part of my job is the money they leave when our transaction is over. I would relish the opportunity to leave a real impression on someone and for them to actually benefit from our interaction. At least more than a I’m not hungry anymore capacity.

I signed up for an alternative teacher certification program online. All the lessons are basically a study guide to prep me for the certification test. I’m not quite finished but I’ve made considerable progress.

Best case scenario: I pass the test the first time and start applying for positions in Houston and Dallas Fall 2016.

I’m not sure why I’m writing you a letter you’ll never read.

I felt safe with you, like we were family. You understood parts of me that only a handful of people are familiar with. We even had our own cheesy catchphrase to affirm that our friendship was solid like we were in a movie or premium cable series.

Madly deeply.

We all do our best to get by the best way we know how. Sometimes that involves a person so you latch onto them to keep yourself afloat when you feel close to drowning. And you convince yourself that you might drown without them.

You are not around anymore but I did not drown. And I have to stop relying on other people to take care of me, especially when I am not even trying to take care of myself. I just miss you sometimes and I hope that you are well wherever you are.