The Day I Pretend is Monday

Which would be today. What, it isn't Monday, and I haven't taken the day off? Oh, man. I have a feeling that my internal calendar won't be getting back to normal any time soon. An upcoming super-long weekend to visit a dear friend in Chicago (Oh, Chicago) pretty much guarantees it. But you know, I'm pretty okay with that. Because, GODDAMN, Chicago.

So I have an odd relationship with my family. Not my parents and brother, who I feel I'm really close with, but with my extended family, on both of my parents' sides. I have nothing in common with a single member of my huge pool o' relations, except for that whole DNA thing. When I was a child, I think the only word I could use to describe how my cousins treated both my brother and I would be abusive. Thankfully, my parents moved us out of their hometown early on in my life, and I barely saw the people who might call me family, excepting, of course, over Christmas, and, in the case of my grandparents, on other major holiday type occassions.

I bring this up because my only remaining grandparent is going to die soon. I feel bad for my Oma, but, truth be told, I feel more bad, and, really only upset about the fact that it's making my mom sad. Sometimes I wish that I could feel more for the situation, but at the same time, I'm glad that I don't. I was never marked as one of my Oma's special favourites, and was often brushed aside as insignificant as I wasn't in possession of a penis.

Sometimes I think I'm bitter about the fact that I never had a loving grandparents. Other times, well, most of the time, I couldn't care less. I guess you don't really know what you don't have if you've never experienced it.