It’s that depressing point on a Sunday night where it’s nothing but a swift slide downhill to bedtime then work in the morning. Most Sunday nights I spend at CSP’s, languishing on his roommate’s hideous turquoise couch (I’m not going to even bother describing it—I just need to post a photo at some point), but with the 4-day weekend coming up, it seemed prudent to send him on home alone to get his fill of football without me. Thus when we are exposed to each other over the long holiday weekend, we won’t suffer the effects of the dreaded oversaturation illness.
This weekend I’ve been entertaining my brain with Army Wives, Twin Peaks and Game of Thrones. Judge as you will. I’m also doing my damndest to finish John Irving’s latest book, which I’ve been reading for a number of months now, which, for me, is really embarrassing. I used to read a book a week, and now I can’t even finish one in a month, or two, and quite possibly three. Sigh. Damn you Netflix!
Despite its popularity, my octopus did not win any awards on Friday night, and that was a bit of a downer, but the evening wasn’t a complete waste. CSP and I had a lovely dinner at Blue’s brother’s place, and we played a few rounds of Fluxx, which reignited my love of the game. Today I ventured in to Great Hall of Games to get Pirate Fluxx for the game night we’re having Wednesday with Wikus and his lady friend. Of course I expect some Settlers of Catan as well. And if things really go my way, and everyone is sufficiently lubricated, there will be Quelf. Hilarity will ensue.
CSP is thinking of having a Thanksgiving dinner. This is totally outside of my normal way of thinking. I don’t celebrate most things—just birthdays, anniversaries and Chicken Day (less than one month away!), and due to my awesome familial background, I don’t have cozy, warm memories of holiday dinners. Though, I have had some lovely Thanksgiving dinners at friends over the past decade, they were not hosted by my partner. That’s a level of stress that I’ve managed to avoid. I’m sure nothing more than a dish will be expected of me, but I’m already starting to suffer a variety of host anxieties. CSP is all calmly thinking about hosting a Thanksgiving dinner, while I’m going wherewilleveryonesitandwhenwillthegroceryshoppinghappenihateturkeyohmygodwillwegettohavesexlikenowtomakemefeelbetteraboutallthisscarystuffthatisn’treallyscarybutmybrainistellingmethatitis?
My kind aunt just sent me an email saying she’s thinking of me, especially because of the Penn State horror. She is wondering how it is affecting me. That woman has such prescient capabilities. The whole thing has been terribly hard on me, and it’s really frustrating because this will bring the tragedy of child sex abuse to the national forefront, but not for long. It is such a sad, pathetic everyday occurrence. Nothing will change. People will keep finding out about it, and doing nothing, saying nothing. Because it’s easier than actually having to deal with the reality of it. In my twenties, I discovered that another aunt actually caught my dad abusing me, and she did nothing, said nothing. She just kept her own children and grandchildren away from him. When I lived in Alaska (10-11 years old), my Girl Scout troop leader knew. She didn’t call the cops, and was actually pretty damn chummy with my father. In middle school I was questioned by the principal and a cop, but I was scared shitless to say anything, and instead of flat-out denying it, I just didn’t say anything. I still hate myself for that cowardliness. As far as I’m aware the school and the authorities did nothing. And of course my mother knew. She found out over and over and over again. In Oklahoma, a judge knew, he was a neighbor. He did nothing either. I have no idea how many other people knew. And not a single person helped me. I had to do it all, which was waiting until I was 18 and moving from Texas to Boston, and eventually, at 24, never speaking to my parents again.
And my story is nothing compared to who knows how many children, and it is going to keep happening forever and ever. And so I’ve been crying a lot these days. I’ll send a positive email to my aunt when I can, because she has been through a lot in her own life, including completely dropping her sisters (my mom and the aunt who caught my dad all those years ago) from her life. She made that sacrifice for me, because she is a good person, and that is the only trump card she had left in the deck of our shitty family history. She never knew until I told her, and I believe she is the one and only person who if she had known when it was happening would have down something about it, but through no fault of her own, she found out too late. But she has offered me unconditional love and support, and at least family-wise, I have not received much of that.
So, please, if you can in any way, donate your time and money to organizations that help abused children (sexually, physically, emotionally, you name it, just help those kids, because I am willing to bet there have been far too many people in their lives who have completely turned their backs on them).
