Saturday, July 3, 2010

Welch Preservation

Sarah and I spend an hour commiserating over our Welch-dom. We coin a new term: Welch Preservation vs Self Preservation, Welch Preservation meaning sacrificing your own emotional well being under the false assumption that we aim to please, and that our pleasing other people will result in us pleasing ourselves. Somedays I just want to be home, el cafe where my village of parents resides, the comfort of people who know me at a close distance, who will feed me if I talk sweetly, will tease me, a place where I can feel young forever. It's just some days when I can't quite find the hilarity, can we blame it again on my sleepy disposition? I always think I have my ducks lined up, always think I've got it figured out, but we know i don't really believe in that. My grandma and I talk about friends and I feel better. Artie and Pam and go for a joy-ride in Pam's new car, we drink a little beer, Pam gets loud, I get chatty, Artie bullshits, we go home and cook dinner. These are things. Are these the things?

I am looking for a Welch retreat, a few days with my kin, a few days to get my head an heart in sync, a few days to cry and then laugh at our fake misery. That is all I want today, tomorrow, maybe forever. I had lots of 10 minute nightmares, I woke up and stared at the ceiling, full of maps, Australia right in front and thought of Sage, winking at her before falling back asleep. My stomach was squealing and I stared at the ceiling writing lines of poetry in my head about those strange sounds, the best one (though I can't be sure it is good) was "The sound of fallen soldiers, comes muffled, from my stomach." Mom hasn't called me back, and I want to go to bed, but I am not sure how.


"FUCK WELCH PRESERVATION" she says. I tell her: we swallow things too often, and it makes us so full of things that are not ours that we lose touch with ourselves. When push comes to shove we need ourselves more than we need them.
It is not in our nature to hang loosely onto people, we claw and clasp, it really musses things up. Oh god, am I this lonely? I didn't even know. Welch-dom, Welchdoom, we like to take it straight to the bloodline, not just for blame but for self-praise too. We are this way because we were born Welches we say. As though that means anything to anyone who isn't us. It is only like this when we are feeling like the loneliest or happiest people in the world. We wonder if this is normal. Is this normal?


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