Yeah. Just experienced one of those–in conjunction with about 3 solid doses of irony.

I’m not going to mince words–I feel like shit. Haven’t started crying yet, but maybe that’s an even worse sign.

(In other news, I just typoed and wrote “song” instead of “sign.” So let’s move on to that.)

Today was ironic because I’m writing this paper on faith, and I’m way behind. I figured out that I wanted to work in the idea of music, and that people can ultimately have faith in music. Then, I accidentally uncovered an email that my mom sent me months back that I’d never read, because it was a forward. But it was called “A Contemplation on Music,” and it was a welcome address given to freshmen at the Boston Conservatory by Karl Paulnack, who teaches there. It’s perfect–it has every tidbit I want and need for my paper. But it contains all the sentences I wish I could say. He recommends many classical pieces, one of which I’m listening to right now. It’s called “Quartet For The End Of Time,” by Olivier Messiaen. He was French and lived in the 1940s, when he was captured and sent to a German concentration camp. There, he wrote this piece, that was composed for four musicians– the four he found in the camp, including himself. It’s dark.

Today is ironic because, to couple with finding that paper in my email, I had one of the best classes ever. Our teachers brought in a panel of three other faculty members who could talk to us about faith. They spoke of their experiences and bared some parts of their pasts, which made them very vulnerable. Andrew, one of my seminar leaders, even said that he felt so uncomfortable with it that he wouldn’t have been able to talk like that at the beginning of the year. But now, he said, he trusts us more. I took that very personally, and was thrilled to hear that we were deserving of his stories.

That’s ironic, because I was very excited about my fantastic class time and all I wanted to do was tell my parents. And all I asked was that they be together so they could put me on speakerphone and we could all talk at the same time. But, my mother went to the lake AGAIN (which I don’t fault her for, really) which meant I couldn’t talk to them simultaneously. And I refuse to say everything twice! That always happens, and I hate it. It always sucks the second time and I leave things out and I’m not enthusiastic and it feels like a chore. If I was going to pick one to tell about my class, it would be my dad because he loves hearing that stuff, and he’s intellectual. Mom’s more “spiritual,” I guess (that’s a word that was discussed around faith in our class). But she would absolutely flip out if I only told dad or if I told dad first. And I don’t feel like rewarding their strange behavior that I don’t like with saying things twice or catering to them.

It’s not like they’re “separating,” and they’re certainly not getting a divorce. They’re not like that. And, ha, since my dad’s a divorce attorney, it’s pretty much out of the question. Anyway, nothing like that. But it bothers me that they spend so much time apart. I mean at times, it feels like they might as well be divorced for all the time they see each other. I always talk to each separately, and I always have to text the same things to both. And I KNOW that if I were to talk to someone about this, it would be that stupid talk all children get: “It’s not your fault in any way! Mommy and daddy love you very much, and you’re what holds them together!” 

Because that’s exactly what I’m afraid of! I’m not there anymore! It’s like there’s nothing holding them together! And it’s not all about me, but come on… I am the only only only only only child, in a family of seven including me, and everyone else lives an hour away from my parents. I can’t imagine what they DO when I’m gone. All my parents have is work, and the dogs. Maybe the dogs are what is holding them together.

OH MY GAH I wish I could call Shadow up right now and talk to him about this! Then life would be perfect. Actually, if I had a sibling right about now it would make me SUPER happy. Mom always said that the most solid thing that helped her get through her parents’ divorce was her brother. I don’t have one. What now?

After my class on faith, I just keep thinking there’s something I need to turn to, if only I knew what it was. It’s an awful feeling. I racked my brain trying to think of who to call, and all my options were excellent (Rita, Erin, and Caleb), but all I wanted to do was call my daddy. I talk to my parents about EVERYTHING. Usually, even though I hate it, I make the sacrifice to say everything twice because I just always talk to them. When there’s conflict or stress in my life, I almost always call my parents to unload. So it gets horrendous when I have conflict about them, because I’m not ready to speak directly to them yet (and, well, I CAN’T, because I most certainly don’t want to do THAT twice, so I have to wait for them to be in the same room anyway) and I don’t know what else to do but sit and cry. Which I’ve tried. 

I feel like I need to wean myself from them, but why? I mean, if (other than this hiccup) we have such a great relationship, why let that drop? I know people who go weeks without talking to their parents, and I don’t think I could do that. I think the longest I’ve gone is a week and a half. I feel so immature. And yet, I feel like there’s something else that I could reach out to to help balance things a bit, but I have no idea what it is. I’ll probably have some revelation where I realize it was God I was searching for all along, but I’m not ready for that yet. 

Right now I just want to listen to Beatles and find the comfort I know.