Becoming Anne Edwards
Dec. 10th, 2009 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
georginasand" We'll all grow up someday, Meg. We may as well know as know what we want"~Amy in Little Women
I listen.
I listen over tea, or dinner, or homework, or the invariable ten minute walk to class, or Meeting, or rehearsal.
I listen and I proofread papers, run lines, and take up sleeves. I give hugs and some advice. I am proud and "disappointed" (never,of course, angry. Just disappointed).
I laugh, and I laugh, and I "knock, breathe,shine, and seek to mend,"
and I listen.
As Anne Edwards says in The Sparrow "I've turned into the semi-mom of an odd bunch of children." And I love it.
When i imagine anything about my life in ten years it involves a kitchen table
This ability to listen is, I know, a talent and a gift for which I am very grateful. I don't think there is a production or a grade in my entire life that I am more proud of then the listening that I have done and the ways I have been able to help my friends.
But there (as there always is) a catch. I know more about most of my friends than I think a lot of people do. And as a result I know more about their friends (some of whom I am also friends with) than they know I do. When a close friend starting dating The Boy Scout, he joked that I must be on some sort of committee created to analyze his behavior. And I can take confidence keeping to Olympic championship levels.
But I don't give confidence. I rarely talk about myself and when I do I regret it. I either regret it during and waste a lot of breathe apologizing profusely. Or I regret it after and end up feeling like I have shared too much about myself.
Same goes for helping. I will read papers, take up sleeves, fix jackets, listen for hours at all hours of the day or night, make and keep promise with joy. I love it; it genuinely makes me happy. But I get plagued with guilt if I ask the same of anyone else. Like clearly The Roommate, with whom I am very close (would trust with my live, soul, and light designs) is going to think I am lazy if I ask to borrow her bike when she isn't using it because she is slaving away in that chem lab of hers.
So what gives.
I don't want to end up bitter because I give so much of what I want but can't (for what ever silly reason) receive. And I love, more than even I have words to express, this aspect of my life. It is, without a doubt, the most salient aspect of my life, the part that makes me feel real, regardless of whatever else I am doing. I assures me that I am real and good and loved. But this thing, this catch, it nags.
So what gives.
I remain,
Georgie
I listen.
I listen over tea, or dinner, or homework, or the invariable ten minute walk to class, or Meeting, or rehearsal.
I listen and I proofread papers, run lines, and take up sleeves. I give hugs and some advice. I am proud and "disappointed" (never,of course, angry. Just disappointed).
I laugh, and I laugh, and I "knock, breathe,shine, and seek to mend,"
and I listen.
As Anne Edwards says in The Sparrow "I've turned into the semi-mom of an odd bunch of children." And I love it.
When i imagine anything about my life in ten years it involves a kitchen table
This ability to listen is, I know, a talent and a gift for which I am very grateful. I don't think there is a production or a grade in my entire life that I am more proud of then the listening that I have done and the ways I have been able to help my friends.
But there (as there always is) a catch. I know more about most of my friends than I think a lot of people do. And as a result I know more about their friends (some of whom I am also friends with) than they know I do. When a close friend starting dating The Boy Scout, he joked that I must be on some sort of committee created to analyze his behavior. And I can take confidence keeping to Olympic championship levels.
But I don't give confidence. I rarely talk about myself and when I do I regret it. I either regret it during and waste a lot of breathe apologizing profusely. Or I regret it after and end up feeling like I have shared too much about myself.
Same goes for helping. I will read papers, take up sleeves, fix jackets, listen for hours at all hours of the day or night, make and keep promise with joy. I love it; it genuinely makes me happy. But I get plagued with guilt if I ask the same of anyone else. Like clearly The Roommate, with whom I am very close (would trust with my live, soul, and light designs) is going to think I am lazy if I ask to borrow her bike when she isn't using it because she is slaving away in that chem lab of hers.
So what gives.
I don't want to end up bitter because I give so much of what I want but can't (for what ever silly reason) receive. And I love, more than even I have words to express, this aspect of my life. It is, without a doubt, the most salient aspect of my life, the part that makes me feel real, regardless of whatever else I am doing. I assures me that I am real and good and loved. But this thing, this catch, it nags.
So what gives.
I remain,
Georgie
no subject
Date: 2009-12-11 01:23 pm (UTC)I'm going to think about this a bit.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 02:21 am (UTC)I haven't decided if it (the part where most people don't even know my name) makes it easier or harder to share.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-13 08:47 pm (UTC)2. And I love you.
3. Call me? I'd like to hear you talk.
(4. I promise to shut up)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 02:23 am (UTC)2. I love you too.
3. I will soon. Life=crazy for quantities of crazy that equal Christmas and quantities of life that equal working retail/finishing my writing portfolio/finding a job. And I am having dinner with your parents tomorrow. But yes, I will call you.
Love,
Georgie