I like comfort.
I'm not talking about those "cute" tracksuits that the PTA moms wear to the post office and the grocery; I mean comfort as in Comfort Zone. I like things to be as they always have been. Assuming that "as they always have been" is sane and level.
When I'm out of my comfort zone, I eat. I like warm, heavy, satisfying foods. And hot fudge.
But I just realized tonight that I like other comfort items, too.
Awesome movies that are always going to be awesome and totally watchable, even if you've seen 'em 500 times.
Music that puts you right where you were when you listened the first and four-thousandth times. Like this or this and some of this. Times that were innocent, crazy, fucked up, settled, whatever.
So, my dad has some kind of health issue that is about clear as mud right now; whatever it is, it's in the cervical spine area. I don't know if it's in the actual spinal cord or if it's hanging out around the vertabra taunting us with its creepiness. We'll know more next week; he has a MRI scheduled for Thursday, which will clarify the situation, we hope. I refuse to get worked up about it right now; I'll save that for if it's REALLY necessary and not because I crave drama.
This is, like, the fifth blog I've attempted today.
My sister and I got into it on Friday. It's tiring. She won't hear what I'm saying; she takes my words and twists them to suit her victim mentality, which enrages me, which further fuels her opinion that "Shannon is big fat meanie". Emotionally, I am exhausted when I think of her and my niece and nephew.
When I speak with her, I can hear in her voice the expression on her face, her body language. She thinks that I think I am a better (fill in the blank) than she. Heh. No matter how many times I tell her that isn't the case, that I am not judging her or whatever, everything I say falls on deaf ears. So I yell.
But really, I've only been in two yelling fights with my sister. I just avoid talking to her anymore. She doesn't want to talk to me anyway, and she really has nothing to say to me. Funny how things can change so completely and so suddenly. A year ago, this dysfunction and anger was not part of our relationship dynamic.
Things--between the two of us, anyway-- was comfortable. One never really realizes how disposable a relationship can be.
And this is why I like things that are comfortable. As the walls come crashing down, I'll have my baked potato soup in my bowl, Say Anything on the TV, my iPod earbuds in playing The Smiths or Depeche Mode with my hot fudge waiting in the wings. Maybe that will make me more comfortable?
Oh, and my poor husband is stuck in a building that was aflame today. Scary shit. Big building, too. He has no power, and no elevator. Many, many flights of stairs, but he's confined still, so maybe the lifts will be working by the time he is released.
It sounds like he's in prison. Sometimes it seems like it.