my life 2007

And no...it isn't "hormones."

I've had a delightful three-day weekend. For some reason, though, I'm emotional.

Do you ever get that?

It isn't a painful "emotional" or even a roller-coaster ride. I just...feel more than I normally do, for reasons unknown.

Today, I finished reading The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell: An Accidental Soldier's Adventures in Iraq, by John Crawford. I'm reviewing the book for the Academy's journal, [i]War, Literature and the Arts[/i]. Crawford writes exceptionally well and expresses many of the feelings--and often, lack of feelings--I also experienced in Iraq, but could not express as well as he does. When I returned, I gave up trying to explain how it feels to be there. I left my blog from that period as my sole attempt to give everyone a glimpse of it, but I know that's all it is. Crawford shares some of his experiences in a war he didn't believe in from the beginning, but supported because he was a "volunteer." The first two-thirds of the book is a somewhat distanced report of various experiences of his time there; the last third is deeply personal, and he is trying to make sense of his feelings, and how his marriage fell apart, and who he is, and what he wants, and why he should go on living, even. He shares the emotional confusion of that strange hell. The book is intense, and blatant. He doesn't shy away from the truth as he sees it, because he is "no longer affiliated with the military in any way."

I found the book powerful and...true. Crawford may have been a specialist in the Army (I assume), but he is no fool.

This evening, I watched the movie Crash. I've known about this movie for years, and heard good reviews of it, but had never seen it. It successfully challenges our tendency to stereotype characters. :) I feel obliged to point out that the movie is powerful, but the power is understated...but I don't know of any powerful movies where the power wasn't understated. If you haven't seen it, do so. It's an excellent investment of a couple of hours.

And a couple of weeks ago, I said no to my baby brother. It's been 20+ years coming. I finally had enough. I'm admittedly omitting most of the details, but he wanted to move in with me and "start being responsible." He couldn't give me a good reason he hadn't decided to do this in Seattle or Texas, two places he's lived recently. I told him that if he wanted to become responsible, he'd begin by returning to whatever he was running from in Seattle and face it. He'd pay his back taxes and child support and get right with the law by paying whatever he had to. If he wanted to move to Colorado then, he'd get himself a driver's license and a vehicle and save enough money to put down on a home or apartment and have a job waiting for him, because that's the way responsible people do it. They way you don't "become responsible" is to pop into a new state with nothing but the clothes on your back and ask a person you've owed money to for years (but haven't paid a dime to) and ask her to take you in. I'm fresh out of favors. Go back and face whatever it is you're running from.

He was undeniably shocked when I said no. I've never said that to him, and I suspect he isn't used to hearing it. He's a smooth talker. He has a gift for sensing what you want to hear, and saying it. He'd have made an incredible politician.

He called after he left to admit he'd gotten high at my house. This after presumably being clean for two years. Anyway...I really didn't feel anything when I got the message. I don't know how to explain it. He'd finally pushed so hard and for so long that he was now outside my life, and it really didn't matter what he said or did from that point onward.

I hear myself say this and I wonder what's the matter with me. I should have some human feeling for him...but I don't. Something in me broke the night he tryied to convince me to take him in. That night, he went from brother to stranger, somehow. The news that he'd abused my hospitality by finding a way to get high (with the neighbor, I suspect) didn't matter either way.

I've been at peace since then. I suppose I needed to forgive myself, and I finally did. Forgive myself for what, though? I couldn't protect him the way I think I should have when we were children. No one else gave him chances, so I should. I don't know what else, but I clearly needed redemption for something. I realized, I guess, that I paid my dues, and that's it.

I can't explain it any better right now. It's more feelings than facts. In this instance, the feelings are more real than the boring facts, but less expressible.

In good news (and with an abrupt subject change)...yesterday, I finally broke down and bought some new jeans. I've finally recovered most of the fitness I had before the accident over four years ago, thanks to a combination of diet (primarily portion control and whole foods), and exercise. I can run like I used to--or at least as far as I used to--so I've dropped back to my fit weight (~130). I gave up a couple of years ago on ever being at this weight or level of fitness again, so I'm stoked at my accomplishment. So, since all my pants made me look like I was carrying a load, I bought some comfy 30-30 button-down 501's.

All in all, life is good. The leaves are turning, the weather is brisker, and I think we have a bit of snow on the peak. Autumn is upon us, and autumn in Colorado makes me happy. It reminds me of happier, carefree days, and it means the holidays are just around the corner.

d