Uncle, the Wonder Student

So I found something kind of funny out today. My uncle and I are basically taking the same course for English. Granted, his is at an actual college, but other than that, nothing is different.

Of course, I was helping him with his homework today. I find this kind of fun. I'm helping a forty year old man with how to write a descriptive essay.

But, he wanted to go back to school to become a nurse. And he had to take this composition course. I give him props for doing it. It's difficult to go back to school after all those years, especially if you don't particularly like school.

It's nice to know that education isn't all that different, whether you're sixteen or fortysomething.

Grandpa Ed

I was listening to a conversation that my parents were having about their dads (with have both already died) as we drove home from Canada today. And I found out something that changed my opinion a little bit about my Grandpa Ed.

See, he had six kids (my mom and her five brothers) and a wonderful, but rather afraid wife. He was a Detroit cop, served in the military, and definitely a straight laced guy. Up into this point, I've hated him. I haven't really met the man, he died when I was two. But I hated him just the same.

He was an abusive alcoholic who made his wife afraid, screwed up his eldest son, and did countless other things. My grandmother is amazing, and to think that someone treated her like he did for forty years just about kills me. He also gave her emphysema, she never smoked a day in her life, but he sure did.

His family don't acknowledge this too much. Only good memories really get mentioned, or things that don't involve him. Until now, I wrote him off as all bad. Because in my world, you do that to someone, and you don't get forgiven.

But then I learned that he could draw.

Why does this change anything? It's the first time I felt connected to him. No one else in my family is remotely artsy but me.

So I listened to my mom's stories a bit more, and gave it some thought. He wasn't all bad, all the time. He was still horrible, but I have begun to realize that just because he was horrible, it doesn't mean that he made their lives horrible. Only parts of it. He wasn't all evil.

I still hate him. But at least now he's finally family.

Those Days

My grandmother was bipolar. But by the time she died, there were a host of other things wrong with her as well. Some were side effects of her meds, some were from smoking, a complusion she developed as her mental illness got worse. When she died, she wasn't much older than my parents are now. But at least she was out of her misery.

On days like today and yesterday, I worry about becoming just like her. A generally happy state with some horrible days, that's what I tend to do. If I really am like her, the up and down days might even out. Or they might get worse.

As overdramatic as it seems, I do have a higher risk of being depressed or bipolar because of my grandma. Most days I think this theory is nuts. But on the days when suicide comes into my thoughts? Yeah, I can believe it.

I'm hoping all this emotional crap is just teenage angst and hormones. I hope.
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Those days when I'm like this, all the little worries get heightened, and all I can think about is how painful they could turn out. The rational part tells me that my problems are small, and I am extremely fortunate to be where I am in the world, in my family, my house, my city, my country. Yet I still sob for the existance of those problems at night on these days.

"Oh woe is me...oh woe is me..." Weighs out the rational.
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I can't even summon up the needed excitment for Sims 3. It should be a YAY! But it's more of a meh.

Chicago

I get to go to Chicago for a couple days this spring break. A year ago, it would've made me the happiest girl in the world. But oh, oh how things change in a year. Now I have different reasons and motives for wanting to go. With some of the same old ones.

What it says to me most is that I'm just getting better at manipulating my parents, and man that makes me feel like a spoiled bitch after a while. My mom didn't want to go last year, she thinks there's nothing for her to do there. After my motives, my first thoughts about it are that she's nuts. It's Chicago! There's a ton of stuff to do. And she hasn't even been in years, how does she know? What's so great about the random cities that she goes to?

Well screw that. I'll make sure she has a good time if it kills me. I have a couple other times I'll have to go, so she might as well have some damn fun. I just wish my Grandma and uncle didn't have to be included. Sigh.