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I have always loved Sesame Street and the Muppets; when I was young, for the fact that the characters sang and tried to love each other, and then later, for the amazing technological feat and labor of love that is puppetry on a show going on 30 years, and even more for the fact that the characters tried to love each other, which is definitely a labor of love.
I wish I could leave home without causing trauma to my parents and making them feel like I'm abandoning them on Chistmas--for my flight, you see, leaves at 4 am Christmas Day.
I told my mother I'd made up my mind. "Another few months won't hurt," she said (sometimes I wish I wasn't so good at pretending I wasn't in pain, I thought then), "but we'd be happy to drive you. Well, not happy really, but we'll drive you."
I want to try to love them.
Who, after all, leaves their family at Christmas? It really says something about you and your relationship with the people you leave, and with the people you leave to go to, when you leave the ones who love you at Christmas. Something I wish I didn't have to say.
I wish my mother, especially, understood that I don't hate her or my family, but this is something I need to do for myself. I wish she understood that I understand what a chance I am taking, and how dangerous it will be, and how I am potentially throwing something away I will want later, and how I really do need health insurance and I just set myself six months back from getting any coverage again.
I wish she could understand that I have listened to her advice, and the advice of my dad, and weighed it, and then made a decision on whether I was going to listen to it, as I do with the advice of all of my friends--and as I hope you do to my advice. It was hard for me to force myself to listen to it with even that much objectivity, but I wanted to give it a fair think; I owed it to myself at least, if not them as well.
In this case, I decided not to take the advice; I wish that I could both have not taken it and not hurt them.
But I really can't be here anymore, so I didn't take the advice.
And tomorrow, my plane tickets will be ordered and I give notice at my job.
And it hurt them, somehow; why do I always hurt them?
( Bless you, Mr. Jim Henson )
I wish I could leave home without causing trauma to my parents and making them feel like I'm abandoning them on Chistmas--for my flight, you see, leaves at 4 am Christmas Day.
I told my mother I'd made up my mind. "Another few months won't hurt," she said (sometimes I wish I wasn't so good at pretending I wasn't in pain, I thought then), "but we'd be happy to drive you. Well, not happy really, but we'll drive you."
I want to try to love them.
Who, after all, leaves their family at Christmas? It really says something about you and your relationship with the people you leave, and with the people you leave to go to, when you leave the ones who love you at Christmas. Something I wish I didn't have to say.
I wish my mother, especially, understood that I don't hate her or my family, but this is something I need to do for myself. I wish she understood that I understand what a chance I am taking, and how dangerous it will be, and how I am potentially throwing something away I will want later, and how I really do need health insurance and I just set myself six months back from getting any coverage again.
I wish she could understand that I have listened to her advice, and the advice of my dad, and weighed it, and then made a decision on whether I was going to listen to it, as I do with the advice of all of my friends--and as I hope you do to my advice. It was hard for me to force myself to listen to it with even that much objectivity, but I wanted to give it a fair think; I owed it to myself at least, if not them as well.
In this case, I decided not to take the advice; I wish that I could both have not taken it and not hurt them.
But I really can't be here anymore, so I didn't take the advice.
And tomorrow, my plane tickets will be ordered and I give notice at my job.
And it hurt them, somehow; why do I always hurt them?
( Bless you, Mr. Jim Henson )