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where's the reset button?
Feb. 12th, 2003 09:11 pmSo apparently, my family is sueing Walgreens. See, my grandmother has Parkinson's disease, and so she's supposed to be taking anti-tremor medication so that she won't fall down so much. They got it wrong and have been giving her an anti-psychotic, one side effect of which is tremors. Apparently, they've almost killed my nan.
Hi. Can we hit the reset button on 2003? This sucks.
"It always makes me cringe when people tell me I look like her. Her faraway blue eyes always looking back to the days when acid was the most common garnish to a good afternoon--when all she needed to make her so happy she thought she might burst was a party with a Skynrd record. They are rimmed with soft, pale lashes, the youngest part of her body, but the small nubs of calcium that have built up underneath them offset this youth. These calcium buildups are the frst thing your eye is drawn to; too pale to be scars and completely symmetrical, there is no logical reason for them to be there. She wears no makeup, and her skin is a greyish, off-white color. It is, in point of fact, the color of pale skin that is not illuminated from within by health: the color of rosy cheeks gone hopeless.
This isn't to say she wasn't beautiful once. Her cheekbones are high and defined and her figure, though of later years gone to see, was once of the tall, willowy, Twiggy variety. When she was younger, her slightly humped nose have her a regal air, like a bird of prey. She was always vibrant, laughing, everyone's friend. She knew everything about the world and yet it never ceased to amaze her. I've seen pictures from the 70's with her hair down to her waist, wearing rainbow suspenders or long Hawaiian print dresses. In these pictures she is young, free, and the center of attention. In them, she steals the show.
Today, though, that once silky hair is lank, of a drooping color that is an unhappy combination of brown and blonde. It is too short for her oval shaped face, and too thin. Her lips are always chapped. She's starting to turn this all around, to notice the way people look at her. She wants to go back to the days before she gambled everything on a motorcycle marriage and lost. This transformation, this teenage reemergence, feels hollow to me. She isn't becoming a distilled version of herself for herself, but, again, for someone else--a stranger on a place. Her slow makeover reminds me of storefronts from the pioneer days, when what a pedestrian passed on the outside was much larger than what was actually inside. And so I deny that we look alike, that I am what she was over twenty years ago and that I will become her. And I wish that she could admit that she is perfect just the way she she; her luminescent blue eyes and her flower wearing a leather jacket personality. I wish that today she would glow from inside like Christmas, like all the candles of all her old flames at once; that she would love herself for who she has become."
Hi. Can we hit the reset button on 2003? This sucks.
"It always makes me cringe when people tell me I look like her. Her faraway blue eyes always looking back to the days when acid was the most common garnish to a good afternoon--when all she needed to make her so happy she thought she might burst was a party with a Skynrd record. They are rimmed with soft, pale lashes, the youngest part of her body, but the small nubs of calcium that have built up underneath them offset this youth. These calcium buildups are the frst thing your eye is drawn to; too pale to be scars and completely symmetrical, there is no logical reason for them to be there. She wears no makeup, and her skin is a greyish, off-white color. It is, in point of fact, the color of pale skin that is not illuminated from within by health: the color of rosy cheeks gone hopeless.
This isn't to say she wasn't beautiful once. Her cheekbones are high and defined and her figure, though of later years gone to see, was once of the tall, willowy, Twiggy variety. When she was younger, her slightly humped nose have her a regal air, like a bird of prey. She was always vibrant, laughing, everyone's friend. She knew everything about the world and yet it never ceased to amaze her. I've seen pictures from the 70's with her hair down to her waist, wearing rainbow suspenders or long Hawaiian print dresses. In these pictures she is young, free, and the center of attention. In them, she steals the show.
Today, though, that once silky hair is lank, of a drooping color that is an unhappy combination of brown and blonde. It is too short for her oval shaped face, and too thin. Her lips are always chapped. She's starting to turn this all around, to notice the way people look at her. She wants to go back to the days before she gambled everything on a motorcycle marriage and lost. This transformation, this teenage reemergence, feels hollow to me. She isn't becoming a distilled version of herself for herself, but, again, for someone else--a stranger on a place. Her slow makeover reminds me of storefronts from the pioneer days, when what a pedestrian passed on the outside was much larger than what was actually inside. And so I deny that we look alike, that I am what she was over twenty years ago and that I will become her. And I wish that she could admit that she is perfect just the way she she; her luminescent blue eyes and her flower wearing a leather jacket personality. I wish that today she would glow from inside like Christmas, like all the candles of all her old flames at once; that she would love herself for who she has become."
