Singing Dreadful Songs About Summer

For over ten years I have been taking care of other people's children. 

I started babysitting very young, watching children who were only slightly younger than me while their mother worked from home in the next room. At ten years old, I would make them sandwiches and mac and cheese from the box for lunch, go on bike rides with them to the park, yell at the little one (who was also named Emma) when she was being a brat. We would sit on the edges of kiddie pools and talk about whatever it is kids tenandyounger talk about. I wanted to be a good friend and an honest confidant and a good caregiver from the age of ten. 

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I have always loved music. I bought my first CD when I was very young (it was Savage Garden, I admit it) and for a long part of my early adolescence music was the only thing I wanted to spend money on. To do that I needed to have money, and so I needed to work. 

It's funny, I have no particular memory of my parents telling me I had to get a job, or that they wouldn't buy me things... but I think I always knew that we weren't the most affluent family in the world. I always felt bad asking my parents for money... just felt more comfortable using my own money to buy material non-essentials like CDs and books. Which is where all my money usually went.  

Growing up I had several regular families I would babysit for occasionally, generating me enough income for regular trips to the Electric Fetus. I always had to buy two albums. Never just one. 

I didn't want to be a full time nanny. It wasn't really a choice that I had. The summer after I graduated college I went to bartending school in the hopes of being a cool bartender or server like my big sister (pretty sure my love of music also came from her... a good 40% of my personality probably comes from me trying to be just like my cool big sister.) In Minneapolis, you can bartend and serve alcohol from age eighteen. Not so in Chicago. So. It was either try to find a waitressing job with no experience and no connections in the city, or use the years of babysitting behind me and some fantastic references from some fantastic parents to find a nannying job. 

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Over the past few years my job has evolved quite a bit from mac and cheese and bike rides to the park. 

My money does not all go to CDs these days.

I have forgotten. Learning to pay bills and rent and for things like groceries. I budget for all these things and am so thankful that I've been able to be fully independent for these past few years. But while I've been looking for a new job (let's be honest, while I've been watching Netflix marathons and laying on a sheet by the lake in the sun reading / writing / pretending to be finding a job) I've thought of it as a painful painful chore. 

But if, instead of thinking of it as something that gets me by, if I start trying to think of finding a new job so that I can buy myself music, books, go on trips to San Fransisco.... I think that that will make it easier. If I can remember the thrill of taking that money that I earned on my very lonesome up to the cute hip older boys at the cash register at Electric Fetus and walking out of there with 12 tracks of pure pleasure, if I can harness that feeling maybe finding work will be a thrill too. 

And I will take my first paycheck and buy myself the new Arctic Monkeys album. 

Ugh, Alex Turner... I could write an entire blog post about my love for you. 

But. 

Won't ;)

Even On A Cloudy Day

Life is funny, and strange, and recently I've been reevaluating the differences between good things and bad things.

A lot of bad things have happened this year. A little over half way through and so far this has been a categorically bad year.

And yet.

And yet.

Sometimes I think that there is no such thing as a bad thing, even all the bad things. Or maybe I just think that bad things have to happen, and I find it terribly simple to accept that bad things happen. And I'm afraid that that makes me a bad person. It's not that I think bad things are good or that they don't affect me emotionally, it's just that I haven't been particularly confused. I've been shocked. Sad. Upset. Even angry. But I feel like I have this odd understanding.

I was watching Fringe with the fella last night (ps omgFringegowatchit) and my favorite character said something about being emotionally stunted. Things that bother other people don't seem to bother her as much. And sometimes I wonder if I'm emotionally stunted. Which actually makes no sense because I am an incredibly emotional person who cries at the drop of a hat and that Camp Gyno commercial just because it was was so darn good.

Maybe I just watch too much television.

I picked up my guitar the other day. The fella picked up a (seventh) bookshelf to house all our books that were scattered around the apartment and to put it in I had to move my guitar.

I never learned how to play.

My Uncle Ed tried to teach me a few times but it never took. I used to think I didn't have the musical gene but now I'm starting to think I didn't have the desire or the drive. I wish I'd spent more time with him, tried harder to learn from him. I feel like he had more to teach than I know.

  Uncle Ed's ghost bike. Go check it out.

My uncle was hilarious and sweet and one of those people who you know right away when you meet them is just filled with goodness. He gave the best hugs and the sweetest presents and even though my sister and I weren't his biological nieces he treated us just like family. In the best way possible. We always thought he would be around and when he was taken from us it felt... this is cliched but it honestly felt like a hole. Like some monster had taken a bite out of our family. 

My sister had the idea to make a ghost bike and it was a beautiful idea and a beautiful finished project and very therapeutic to make. I've seen two of these put up in my life. It's too many. 

I miss him. 

I miss Tamar. My old friend. I should've kept you closer.

Two people I was close to have passed this year. And last night I got a call from one of my closest friends telling me her mother wouldn't make it through the night. It's too much. I've never really had to deal with death like this before. Maybe it's normal not to go through certain stages for a while. Maybe it's normal to not be confused, maybe other people don't get angry or sad or shocked. I hope so anyway. 

I didn't hold them close enough. It's hard but I'm trying to try harder to keep the people I want to be close to close. 

Through these experiences and other recent experiences I have learned not to be afraid to reach out... even if you don't succeed in getting closer to someone... at least you've tried all you can and when they are gone you will have no regrets. 

You know.

You know.

I think that this is what it is. All these bad things have happened and still I am happy. Still I wake up each morning next to the love of my life. I live in an amazing city in an amazing apartment I have filled with love and books and life. I keep my eyes fixed on the sun. Even on a cloudy day. Maybe acceptance is just easier because I feel that I have such a beautiful life. 

But does that make me selfish and horrible? Being happy amongst all this pain? But I feel the pain!! And still I am happy. How the ef does that work?

Sigh. 

God, I am blessed. I feel too lucky not to look up. Like it would be a disservice to my life.

Sigh.

Keep 'em close, folks.