Follow Your Nose
Well, today was a nice day if you ask me. Chelsea’s mom Christine came up to visit us at Rutgers and we had a nice time. It is now 1:30 in the morning, and I am just about to embark on a trip to academia where my fullest intentions are not to get lost in the exciting school work I am about to partake in. I have never been happier in my life. Oh well, I figure if I do the work now, then when it is due, I will be able to go do something fun instead, like meth (hey i wonder what this stuff smells like. 3-5 minutes later… whoops looks like i got high, and am now a methhead!).
Just kidding folks, this is not some way of me telling you that I do meth. I just can’t stand the stuff really, and I would obviously never try it, so shame on you for thinking that I do, even if you only thought it for a second.
No; the title says follow your nose, because I am sitting here smelling my autumn pumpkin spice candle burning and it makes me want to go back to my childhood, specifically to my dad’s house in EHT, where I could jump around outside in a pile of leaves. When my brother Ben and I were growing up we played a lot outside, thanks to having a dad who who could enforce his children into going to play outside by using a simple classical conditioning method, and a bit of intimidation so that we knew he meant business. Little packs of cards here and there, which ranged from Pokemon to Magic filled Ben and I with glee, little did we know we were being puppeteered by the power of permissive parenting.
I guess Ben and I were for the most part good kids, who never really did anything to get us into actual legal trouble, but then again, repression in a powerful shield. The trouble we got into were usually elevated dramatic screaming and finger-pointing bouts with our step-father, Bob, and our Mom, Mims, but ocassionally the problem would stem from a small discrepancy between Ben and I (though it was always resovled in the end). The scars that the dysfunction has left have been long-lasting, however, and have made me wish that there was a reset or terminate button in life.
The smell of the candle might make me think of Autumn in South Jersey, but the true thing I am longing for, is a home of my own, where I can hit the reset button and establish equality and happiness. Maybe that home will smell like Autumn in South Jersey, but it will certainly not be in a place where I have experienced so felt so disdained. I am tired of trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. So I will say it now out loud to internet, to this new blog I have created, yet for now I will say it quietly in your ears: I am sorry mom, I am sorry Bob. If I ever did anything to truly make you have a mental crisis of any sort, I am sorry, and there is nothing I can do to repay you for the damage I have done. Psychological destruction tends to come as a result of someone inflicting harsh psychological damage. Repression is a powerful shield. There are plenty of things that people protect themselves from by hiding under the shield. I need no shield.