homecoming

It seems like two thirds of my blog posts are just me feeling sorry for myself. I can't help it if I have an inclination towards depression.

I used to go home to see my family every weekend whenever I first started college, but all I did during my time there was work, so I got a job here in Lexington so I could remedy that. Of course, this also caused me to go home less often. I still have managed to go home at least once a month for the last five years, sometimes even three times a month. So, even if I only went home once a month, over five years that's a minimum of sixty trips. Each trip has a total driving time of at least two and a half hours, depending on traffic. That means I have spent a MINIMUM of 150 hours on the road visiting my family. I know it's been more due to the frequency of times I travelled there in my first six months of college, plus extra trips for birthday parties and such. And there's the fact that I rarely make the trip in an hour fifteen. How many times have they come to visit me? Including graduation and to see a play I was in freshman year, I would say maybe twice a year. Let's give them a little leeway and say they've come up a dozen times. Twelve trips equals a minimum of thirty hours driving time. Incredibly miniscule next to my trips down there.

So, should I be mad if they can't make time for me when I do come to visit? I think I have every right to.

I won't even start with the other ways I feel ignored and neglected. I think that's enough for today.

I remember.

You can call what is about to occur a pity party if you wish. In a way, I suppose it is. I just feel that when a person experiences a great loss in their life, that person is entitled to feel an enduring affection for that person that has passed on. What bothers me is when other people also uphold memories of that departed loved one without having had the same connection to them. I suppose I should clarify.

For anyone who doesn't already know this about me, my (favorite) uncle Ace died in a car accident when I was nine years old. He had been married for some time, I don't remember how long, but was divorced at the time of his death. His ex-wife's sister had a young daughter. She was maybe four whenever Ace died. As I said, he and his ex-wife were divorced. This ex-niece of his, fourteen years later, still talks about him and holds "memories" of him. Her MySpace profile talks of how her uncle Ace is her hero and she misses him every day. She also says her favorite number is five, which was the number he wore in baseball/softball.

There is no possible way that she remembers him. She was four years old and didn't see him that often because she didn't even live in Campbellsville at the time. She wasn't the one who listened to Motley Crue and headbanged with him. She wasn't the one who had a sleepover at his house, watched Iron Will and played Super Mario Brothers 3 on his big screen TV. He didn't buy her Puppy Surprise and a Lion King sleeping bag for Christmas. He didn't take her to the Louisville Speedway to see the "40 foot elves" advertised on the radio, only to find out there were ten 4-foot elves.

I am angry that she still claims to feel his presence in her life and miss him so dearly. If he were alive, they wouldn't even have anything to do with each other. She has no idea what it feels like to truly lose someone who was both like a friend and an older brother.