Everything to Everyone

I was in the passenger seat, Jonathan in the driver seat.  We'd been in the car for hours.  We were driving back East as we always do, and I'm sure I was bored.  I'm bored for so long when we drive back there, I seldom remember the parts of the ride that don't bore me.  Just remember specific moments.  One moment this last trip that I remember way to vividly is when an Everclear song came on the radio.  Jonathan almost skipped it, well, did skip it and went back to it and said, "This song always makes me think of you."  I listened to the song and was somewhere between offended and happy that it made him think of me (and yes, the spectrum broadity is not lost on me).  

You put yourself in stupid places
Yes I think you know it's true
Situations where it's easy to look down on you
I think you like to be the victim
I think you like to be in pain
I think you make yourself a victim almost every single day
 

You do what you do
You say what you say
You try to be everything to everyone
You know all the right people
You play all the right games
You always try to be everything to everyone
 

Yeah you do it again

You always do it again
 

You say they taught you to read and write
Yeah they taught you how to count
I say they tought you how to buy and sell your own body by the pound
I think you like to be their simple toy
I think you love to play the clown
I think you are blind to the fact that the hand you hold is the hand that holds you down
Spin around and fall down
Do it again

That is not all of the lyrics to "Everything to Everyone," but it's the jist.  So, I was offended because of the lines like "like to be a victim," "you play all the right games," and "you like to be in pain."  

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I do end up trying to be everything to everyone.  If anyone I know needs anything, I'm there.  That's fine.  I'm totally chill with being there for my friends, but the thing is - I do fall, and I do burn out because I put myself out there so much for so many people.  And then I'm dead and can't help anyone.  But as soon as I get up again, I start the cycle over. 

And I'm totally ok with that song making Jonathan think of me.  It sucks that I'm that way, but it's who I am.  And I always have him to pick me up again.  :)

Bah

I went to the hospital today. Again. I went to see a lovely lady named Mary. She was in the hospital two weeks ago also. She cracked four ribs the same week my grandma had surgery for her hernia. Mary ended up needing a feeding tube. That surgery went fine. 

This week, she was in rehab when she had to go back cuz she had double pneumonia. While there for that, she ended up with a problem with her g-tube. Basically, she's got more bad bacteria than good bacteria in her tummy that's caused by too many antibiotics and the only way to fight the problem (called c-diff) is to take antibiotics. 

Long story short, she's in quarantine and the doc is worried. 

Mary and my family go WAY back. My grandparents knew her and her hubby when they were in college. Her hubby passed away last year. She is one of the sweetest women in the world - I'd give my life for her. She's amazing. Jonathan and I attempt to play poker with her (and her family) a couple Saturdays every month. When her family is out of town, I check on her. She lives about 100 steps away from me in my apartment complex. When I check on her, we always have awesome conversations. She tells me about her childhood and about her marriage. We've definitely bonded and she's confided in me and me in her. She's like another gramma. 

Well, today, when I heard how sick she was at about eight this morning, I was overcome with how much I really care for her and how I've kind of taken her life for granted. She's so amazing, I wouldn't want to think of her NOT being around. The doctor is "concerned." Naturally, I don't like to hear that. I don't mean to jump the gun or whatever, but I don't know that I'll play poker with her again. Sadder yet, if I don't get to play poker with her and she stays as sick as she is, I won't be able to go in to see her - I couldn't risk taking germs to my gramparents. 

All this has already taught me that I need to stop taking others' lives for granted and attempt to see people as often as possible. Especially my old friends (old being... Old). It's also taught me how selfish I am when someone I love may be on their way out. And that I need to learn a better way to "prepare myself" for the loss of a loved one. 

Hmmm... I guess this is mostly un-artistic, pointless ramblings. Who knows. And I really hope my preparation is WAY premature. 

The Lone Kid

So, after writing that post while I couldn't sleep early this morning, I decided I should elaborate some - mostly because the spiraling thoughts and insanity in my brain finally caught up with me and I think I have a tad more to say - with a little bit more clarity.

I'm the only "Kinzer Kid" still in Albuquerque.  I'm in Albuquerque, live alone.  My grandparents and parents live within twenty minutes of me.  But I'm that one kid.  I'm the one who you could look at, and if you don't compare to her siblings, is successful. 

Here's the deal.

I have a college degree, a good job, can afford rent on my own, seldom need help from my parents, help my grandparents on a daily basis, and am a generally good person.  BUT, I was raised to graduate high school, go to college, graduate college, meet man, marry man, have babies, homeschool babies, die.  The big issues that really stand out to my family are meet man, marry man, have babies.  The weird thing is, from my familial standpoint and how I was raised, I'm not successful.

The only reason "graduate college" isn't as huge an importance to the Kinzer Kult is that my brother didn't do it and he's older than me and they can't be too disappointed in him for that because he plans to go back once his wife finishes school.  BUT, he also has an upperhand because he's not only married, but has two babies.  That's Caleb, just skipped steps two and three.  Only thing left is die.  And he's gonna finish steps two and three anyhow.


Then my little brother has done graduate high school, go to college, meet woman and marry woman.  He's going to graduate college and has also joined the military.  He's "successful" even though he went out of order.  He's successful though because he's still working on a goal.  


My little sister is a baby.  She's at step two.  But she's also successful because she's working on a goal.  


Little brother and little sister are going to a "good" school out of state that is costing Mom and Dad an arm and a leg.  


I went to a crappy college, got barely any education, was offered less choices, and now have no goals as I have no intention of being sure I'm married ASAP so I can get down and dirty, throw my legs in the air in hopes of a boy and start planning my homeschool lesson plans.  


So, sure, there's no way my little brother or my parents would admit to that being true - that being me being "less successful" than my siblings.  But my little sister and my older brother would both tell you that it's definite that my parents don't view me the same way as they do my other siblings and that they "worry" about where I'm going, how I'm "really" doing, where I stand religiously and blah, blah, blah.  


Realistically,  I'm so well covered, I'm probably the one they should worry about the least.  And in the eyes of anyone else, I'm pretty damn successful for 23 years old.  Have my own car, my own two bed, two bath apartment, pay my own bills, feed myself, and rely on not much more than a paycheck (and some help from people who know how to force it on me).  That said, I have some sort of failure complex that's driven by how I was raised... Not by what I actually am.  My insecurity is all based on brainwashing I need to get rid of.  


How LAME is that?  It's freaking lame. 

A Spiral of Confusion.

Have you ever just sat down and been unsure of why you were put on this planet in the first place?  Kind of like life is futile 'cause you fight stuff off, love people, lose people, hate things, care about things you apparently don't need to, pay unending amounts of money just to survive and it's all for naught because the whole time you're attempting to pay for all this stuff and care about things you still have to go to work and do things to make it all happen and then eventually you're just going to die? 

Yeah, that's how life has been for me lately. 

Sure, there have been glimpses of hope for why it all happens.  But, really, this thought occurred to me while I was brushing my teeth with a new tube of paste which cost about $3.00.  I realized that I was going to have to buy another new tube within a few months and I'd have to work for those $3.00... And with this economy, it'll probably cost more than that by the time I need it.  Then I realized that I do the same with deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, and every other darn piece of daily routine to attempt to smell good and maintain good hygiene.  But this same annoyance can flow into the fact that I have to buy food and have to buy laundry detergent and dish soap.  It's not a huge deal, it's just that the only way to do any of that is to work 40 hours a week. 

I love my job.  Love it so much.  I'll probably work here my entire life.  Or until my boss retires.  Well, yeah, my whole life, because he'll probably still be working after I die.  My point is, I'm not complaining about my job. 

So as I was brushing my teeth (and attempting to avoid having the saliva and paste roll down my chin - I'm a messy tooth brusher), I was thinking of how much more effective my life could be if I were either independently wealthy (or married well) or could live off the land completely while still meeting typical hygiene standards and living in a city.  Obviously, independent wealth/rich husband is the easier option.

All this came up because I've officially realized how I'm wasting my life and am an ineffective person no matter how hard I attempt to live each day (each moment) with some level of intention.  I really think I should live intentionally, I'm just not sure how to do it without feeling like I'm wasting time and energy as I could just lose all my friends, lose my job (if something drastic happened), lose my mind... It's all potentially a waste and yet I still do it and still feel like I'm not living to my fullest ability.  

I think I feel that way because I'm not doing everything I'm doing and going to school like I used to.  I used to handle that.  My job was more demanding at the time, too.  I'm not sure why I feel like I can handle less and less as I get older.  I'm just... I dunno.  It's all a spiral of confusion because I really probably couldn't do much more and being in school right now would probably be the end of me, but I feel like life is a ticking clock and it tick-tocks all day until I die and have nothing to show for it except a messy apartment full of crap no one will want to deal with.

I Held His Hand

Yesterday was Grampa John's birthday.  He turned 86.  He's damn old.  And he knows it.  He's also completely ok with my teasing him about it.  Which is good, because the teasing isn't going to stop.  He's 86, in decent shape (considering how old he is), but also has a really bad heart and is basically taking care of my gramma (for the moment - she'll be taking care of him again in a few weeks).  

I'm a lot like my Grampa.  I'm a tease (not just with the dudes), he's a tease.  I'm a brat, he's a brat.  I laugh at my own jokes, he laughs at his own jokes.  Often, we're the only two who laugh at each others' jokes.  And we know why it's so funny.  Doesn't matter that no one else gets it.  And that's just funny for us.  And then we laugh harder.  My Gramma has said on several occasions, "She has a weird connection with all the men in our family," and it's true.  I have strange (not in a gross, creepy way) relationships and bonds with all the dudes in my family.  And I rather like it that way.  'Cause most of 'em are kick-ass.  

Grampa and I can sit around for hours talking.  I don't always have any idea what he's talking about since he kinda rambles and jumps topics with no warning whatsoever.  But, nonetheless, we can talk for quite a while.  He has great war stories, love stories, funny stories, any kind of story you can imagine - and he's a fairly decent yarn spinner, albeit sometimes so detailed you can't keep up with the plot.  

A lot of who I am is my Grampa.  He can't just sit.  Well, he can when he's super tired.  He always feels like he needs to be doing something.  I'm the same way.  Completely.  And that gets me in trouble a lot - I get so busy I stress out... or my boyfriend calls me high strung and yells at me for not calming down.

Anyhow, that's just backstory.

Last week, my Gramma was in the hospital, so Grampa and I got quite a bit of bonding time and had some good conversations and a ton of laughs - even about death.  

Two days before his birthday, Gramma came home.  We had a party for him on his birthday and his "rump" (as he calls it) got tired of sitting on the hard chairs so he sat in a big soft chair in the same room.  He wasn't interjecting into the conversation, looked slightly bored, and almost fell asleep.  That's lame, 'cause it was his birthday party.  I went and sat on the couch next to the chair and started talking to him.  

Eventually, Grampa just grabbed my hand and held it.  We just sat there.  Kinda talking, kinda not.  Laughing at random things for no reason.  Holding hands.  I don't remember the last time I held Grampa's hand.  It was kinda strange - and honestly, a little uncomfortable since I wasn't sure why he wanted to hold my hand (not that it matters).

All I know is I held his hand.

New Post... You Excited?!

So... I haven't written in forever.  I'm not really sure why.  I guess there may just not be anything to write about.

Honestly, I think part of my lack of blogging (besides being overly busy and constantly berated by my boyfriend for never relaxing and always doing something) is because I've been "reading" some blogs.  The problem is - there are few worth reading.  Ok, so if you're my friend and you're reading this and you blog, I'm really sorry if that offends you.  I may or may not have read your blog, so it'd be dumb to take offense anyhow.  

The point is, I hate to read things about how people are feeling.  Sure, my blog has emotion in it (don't really know how as I tend not to be the most emotional person in the world), but it's not like my own personal diary.  And this is part of why I've never been all that excited about blogging.  I can't get into the whole journalling/diarying thing.  I just don't like it.  

On that note, when I was driving the other day, I realized how most of my nonfiction writing is really the naked truth and blatant honesty attempting to draw a picture of something or someone that is or has been part of my life.  It dawned on me that some of the things that I have written should probably make me self-conscious or worried about people knowing "too much" about me or my emotions and feelings.  Then it hit me that maybe one day, someone will read something I write and think, "Hey, I've been there," and be happy to know that they aren't the only one who has been through something like that.  

I think a huge part of why I'm totally ok with posting things like detailed stories about loving someone or why I have a tattoo with "Amazing Grace" music around my wrist or why I hate being called a Christian, or even just how much I love cursing is because I have had my personal, nonfiction writing critiqued by people who actually know what they're doing.

That being said, hopefully I'll start blogging more.  I need to get on this whole writing thing or I'm never going to get published.  Which may or may not be a bad thing.  I just know I'm not that great of a writer.