I'm kind of a loggerheads. I can't go back to oblivious. I've seen too much that I cannot unsee, now. I haven't spoken to my parents in weeks before this evening, and if one counts a conversation as something that lasts longer than a few minutes, it's been quite a while longer than weeks where I've had a conversation like that. It's not like my mother didn't notice. She asked where I had been. I tried to explain. It seemed like a good opening. They're oblivious, for the most part. They don't badger me. They don't hate me. They ask how I'm doing. They are oblivious though. They are that.
The conversation left me sad, very sad. I did try. I'm not angry with them. I don't hate them. We spoke about some things that are on my mind: baggage, relationships, better living, connection, being a better parent than I was, my girls' problems with their mother... My mother assures me that I'm a "great guy." I've done all kinds of good for my daughters. She doesn't think I have baggage. She says it is not good to "pick myself apart." Their idea of "a good life" is doing "the right thing(s)," being successful, having material comforts. I've done great at that, she tells me.
She wasn't picking on me. She wasn't angry with me. She didn't fight with my father. Confront them? They'd have no clue. It would be like kicking the cat for miaowing too much. It just seems pointless, and cruel. These are the people who put me through school. They've helped me, advised me, kept me company, provided for me, had fun with me...and they are oblivious. They're evil? I should be righteously angry with them? I don't feel that. I feel sad. I feel sorry for them. "So much water moving underneath the bridge...," as Crosby, Stills, and Nash sing.
I suppose I should go back to the drawing board and figure out what went "wrong." It would be easier if she were mean or hostile. Uprooting this stuff...what a mess.