Family

I need a family. I don't mean I want to get married and have children, or that I want to move back home and live with my parents. I mean, I need to have people (or at least a person) in my life who I know loves me and knows me no matter what. Isn't that what family is for? Someone who waits for you to get home at the end of the day - who notices when you're late or thinks of you when they're at a flea market and buys you a scarf. If I got in a car accident and died today, I think it would be a few days before people would notice. I know that sounds dramatic, but everyone would probably assume that someone else knew where I was, because no one is just looking out for me but me.

Don't get me wrong, I know I have many people in my life who love and care about me a lot. But they all have someone else they love more. I'm nobody's number one. Not anymore. I'm a whole hell of a lot of people's number two or three, though.

Let's start with my biological family. I don't mean to piss in their wheaties here by saying that I don't have a family or that nobody loves me, wah wah wah. I know they love me. My parents have always made it clear that they will love me no matter what, and that as long as I'm trying my best they are proud of me. I know I can always go home and they will accept me with open arms. But over the past few years, it has become evident that what makes us up is so fundamentally different, that we will never truly know each other. I have to just check some really huge parts of myself at the door every time I go home. And I know my mom bites her tongue on a regular basis around me. We will just never be able to discuss some of the most important parts of my life. And that's something I'll just have to accept. This is the kind of relationship I will have with my family. Smiles and hugs at holidays, nice homecooked meals on weekends home, friendly phone calls during the week to see how life is. But they don't really know me, and I don't think they really can. And vice-versa, apparently.

Next, my husband. I had a family in him. He knew me fairly well. And even though he didn't agree with many of the things I believed or the choices I made in my life, he accepted me for who I was. He was waiting for me at the end of every day. I was the first person he called when he had anything to say. He was my safe place to fall. But when I chose to leave that, I ruined something that can no longer be repaired. And I don't think I even want it to be. For awhile, we remained friends, but he has recently cut that off. He wants to learn how to grow without me - a totally reasonable request. But now, when I just want to cry, I can't call him anymore. That family is over. Regardless of whether it was the "right" thing to do, it's over. And there's no turning back.

I have a boyfriend now. And that's nice. So I'm not lonely when I'm with him. But I can't be with him a lot, because - shocker - he has a life outside of me. He is divorced as well and has two kids. So he only has half of the week even available, because the other half he's with his kids, from his first family. So we get together, have a great time, and then he leaves to be with his number one and two people - his kids. How can I be upset about that? I can't. Of course he needs to do that. He's a great father. But it's just another example of the backseat I take in someone else's life.

And my roommates. Three girlfriends who are fun, intelligent, and inspirational to live with. But they have all been friends for a long, long time. And they have this whole network of friends that they met through PeaceCorps that I am just not a part of. I'm always the odd one out at every party. Because when they were 22, they were trekking the world, living in Zambia, meeting all kinds of fascinating people and developing these friendships that are still going strong now. When I was 22, I was getting married. Now I don't have my husband anymore, and there's not really a place for me in their world, as nice as they are and as much as they try to include me.

Then there's my students. They love me so much, and I thrive on that. I have very close relationships with many of them. They confide in me, trust me, and even call me "Mom" sometimes accidentally. But at the end of every day, they go home to their real families and leave me at school.

When I lived in my friend's basement for 6 months after leaving my husband, I started to feel like they were my family. Although I had my own complete apartment in her basement, I spent an awful lot of time with her, her husband, and her two kids. I pulled the older one's first tooth on a camping trip, and the youngest one still calls and asks me to come over now that I've moved out. They really tried to make me feel like a part of their family, and they are probably the closest I've come, but it's just not the same.

This is the perfect story to illustrate my feeling of being a floating island without a home. Last night, my roomates, my boyfriend, and I went over to another friend's house to watch the debates. We all had a great time, got a little drunk, and came stumbling home in a cab, laughing and still arguing about politics. My roomies (and the 2 girls staying with us this weekend - PeaceCorps friends of course) all went to their respective beds, and my boyfriend and I went to mine. My boyfriend woke up and left early in the morning to go get his kids for the weekend. I slept for another few hours. When I woke up, I could smell bacon and coffee downstairs, and I heard laughing from all the girls. I smiled, and couldn't wait to get down there and join in the Saturday morning girltime. But I walked downstairs to find out that they assumed I had left with my boyfriend. There was no more bacon, no more coffee, and no more champagne for the mimosas. They were all telling Zambian stories and laughing without me. I went to the kitchen to make an English muffin (sans bacon) and drink some plain orange juice (sans needed hangover champagne), and just started crying. They had all assumed I would be spending the day with my boyfriend, but he was with his "real" family. He had assumed I would be spending the day with them, but there didn't seem to be room for me in their family. And now here I sit, alone in my bed, typing this blog entry with no one to call. I fucking hate Saturdays. I feel like Eeyore. Thanks for noticing me.