vacances

Last week my family and I vacated to the Cape, where I tried hard to be agreeable and not spend my days catching up on sleep and reading in solitude, which to me constitutes restful leisure, but this is not the purpose of vacation in my family. Rather it seems to be togetherness at all costs, which, when it succeeds, is wonderful, but when it breaks down, is incredibly unpleasant. Much of the week after an initial fight on Monday was spent either enduring or awaiting further upsets while pretending nothing had happened. For once, it didn't feel like it was directly somehow my fault, but as usual, I did intervene. It didn't help, and given that the actual underlying source of the argument is deeply embedded in the personalities of the involved parties, I don't think things could've been helped.

After I helped him vacuum the unfortunate wineglass (an unusual occurrence; violence of any type other than verbal is rare, and even that is wrapped in cushioning layers so as not to seem what it frequently is) out of the carpet, Dad and I sat on the sun porch for some time, talking very little and listening to the sounds of the others going to bed. Watching me cry without sound, he said quietly, "I wish you weren't so sad," and I felt then that I had let him down, underscoring his helplessless to fix anything, a helplessness which always hurts me more than my own and more than anyone else's. I have the sense that he knows, probably better than anyone, why I am so sad, and feels the least able to do anything about it- not that anyone anymore can, or should, except myself. But it is painful to have reminded him, and I regret it having done so when I could have hidden it, but did not try.

It was heavenly to see our friends, to be around people who have known me since before I was born and who (in the case of my godparents) are not so reserved as to avoid showing that they care. My godmother noticed me kneading the side of my neck which refuses to heal, and gave me an impromptu back massage which was better than a long hug; she always takes special care to look me in the eyes and give me a little shake as we say goodbye and remind me that she loves me. It makes me shy and feel slightly overwhelmed because it's so unlike anyone else's interaction with me, even my parents, who although loving, are not always able to behave lovingly.

Poor girl in the coffeeshop probably thinks I'm slightly nuts as I go to find another napkin, having saturated the one I had with stupid tears, but the more recent ones were happy, at least. Mostly so, anyway. I wish I knew more people (or rather anyone else) like my godmother, and feel like I should go apprentice myself to her to learn how to live like she does. I have the feelings, but not at present the capability, to embrace the world as she does, and wonder if taking up one of her suggestions to come hide out at her place for awhile might not be the best thing I could do to replenish my reserves of giving, which have felt extremely depleted from lack of any return from those to whom I have given or approval from those to whom I would- making it particularly difficult to be open to new opportunities.

...a fight is breaking out between a guy who walked in seven minutes before closing and an employee now, so discretion/valor: I'm guessing it's time to flee. Maybe more tomorrow.