P: Porn, Precision, Pressure, Promise.

he called me a P in an email today by way of explaining the scattered nature of my world. which is probably as accurate as anything i may have wagered. i am scattered and nonsensical and mostly incoherent, but it's unlikely to change so i'm left with little to do but embrace it. he said he felt old, too old, and it pained me. i remember big wheeling with him down the dusty dirt of lynn road, climbing over fences with no trespassing signs, feeling free and adventurous, alive. i remember stealing vegetables from the backyard neighbor's garden, eating them in the doghouse, tingling with guilt but loving the green pepper membranes' slickness in our hands. i remember late-night tag, freely frolicking around our block and those immediately surrounding. i remember mystery at marple manor on the commodore 64, when we weren't yet ultra-involved in academics, but still enjoyed a little neural stimulation. i remember starting high school, needing him. i remember how they teased him because they couldn't believe i was his sister. we were such opposites. and yet, for all my social gregariousness, for all my adorable 14 year-old looks, i desperately needed his support, his approval, his reassurrance that high school wasn't the disaster that it seemed. (but it was) i remember waterslides and shared instability and waking up to find his guilty hands on my tits. because sometimes i guess it's hard to be 16 and not want your sister. i remember when he left. and how i felt like he was the one of the horde with whom i was closest. for all our conflict, the realization was somewhat chilling. we had so much, so little in common. it's hard to think of him as grown up. but then it's often hard to think of myself as grown up. it saddens me to think that he feels old. i know what old feels like and i can imagine it only gets worse. i want him to feel young and free. i want him back in the days of running without caring around the familiar lawns. but i don't really know if he was ever so careless as i. he was always more concerned with the world and its consequences than impulsive i could ever manage to be. which, in part, is why he'll have an income and i'll spend my existence chasing pipe dreams, wishing to be something that i'm not, something that no one else can totally understand.
watching mounds of melony breasts and thrusting, shaven cunts last night on his computer made me wonder what has happened to our world that all things sexual have to exist under this shroud of artifice, that no one really wants the real thing, that the real thing has to be altered to be palatable, it has to be plasticized and controlled, it has to be hyperbolized beyond belief, it has to be morphed into something so fantastical that no one could really take it seriously. and this we view to get ourselves off, barbied-out anatomy.
like he told me, gruffly, when he complained that he didn't understand my generation and its pornography infatuation, it really doesn't make sense. it's visual stimulation, certainly, and that i understand because it gets me going, too, but it's completely fictional. which i suppose is a slice of the intrigue. it's safely dripping.
gray again today, but warm. i can't figure out how to dress her. i feel like such a shoddy mother, dragging her out of the house to meet the bus in a flimsy hoodie when it's frigid and dragging her out bundled to her eyeballs when it's warm. one might think i would learn to check the air before clothing her. i need to get more precise in my life. nothing is ever straightforward, nothing is ever clear. i rarely know my trajectory, even as i'm speeding, stumbling, staggering down it.
so much pressure about money and success and finding where i fit, which has always been my problem. i'm such a misshapen cog. and indecisive, which isn't going to work. i must decide by wintry senescence's end. i must start thinking about quantifying my intelligence all over again by filling in scannable bubbles on pricey paper. i must start thinking about the fact that i am sorta old and that i do need a path, that the pressure isn't entirely misplaced. someone's gotta pay the bills and she's not legally allowed to do it. i need to take lessons from him on how not to be such a pervasive P, lemme have a little J somewhere in my life, just long enough to get things straight.
looking toward the future always makes me cringe because hypotheticals, as we've established, are the ruin of me. somewhere there's promise, even though the economy's in shambles and the educational system is a joke and she will never learn anything of any value if i leave it entirely up to them, even though i don't know two years from now where i'll be or who i'll be or how i'll be and i don't know what will become of us, when all i want right now is the promise of happily ever after: that fairy tale tease that must occasionally come true. i want to know that something, anything is global, stable. i crave some sense of certainty in my choices. the road not taken. i just don't want to be forever looking backward, turning my enjoyment of life to a crumbling pillar of salt that will disintegrate and disperse purposelessly at the slightest breath of wind.