Brassica napobrassica: Public Enemy Number One (rutabaga) wrote,
Brassica napobrassica: Public Enemy Number One
rutabaga

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Another decade passed, and other assorted maudlin crap.

December 10, 2001

Dear Lacey,

You're a piece of shit right now. I know you know, and I know you aren't going to do anything about it just yet. So keep waiting tables and blowing your tips on booze on trips to Wal-Mart, then asking your mother for next month's rent. You're not going to start going to class anytime in the next two years, either, so continue to enjoy slacking off for a long while yet. I also know how deeply anxious you are, and you fucking around is partly to cover up the truth: you can't handle being completely on your own in the world. In eight year's time, you will relish your independence.

Possibly the only semi-intelligent thing you've done in the past year is to move out of your mother's house, though you will continue to spend more time there than you now believe. Ultimately, moving to Murfreesboro will be a good decision, but it will be another five years before you realize it. Until then, you'll spend an inordinate amount of time in Nashville, and it won't be for another year that you manage to spend a full twenty-four hours in the Boro. Horrifying prospect, I know. Even more terrifying is that you'll cry the day you move back to Nashville in 2008.

On Christmas Eve, your mother is going to tell you she thinks you're manic-depressive. She's wrong, though you'll certainly act the part for another year or so. A decade from now, you'll see it was the beginning of her own downward spiral. When your grandmother dies in June 2002, your mother will completely lose her shit. She won't be able to keep a job because she'll have actually lost her mind. The house and car will follow. Your relationship with her will be the last to go. You will be at the same time extremely upset and completely vindicated.

I know you have conflicting feelings about your father, but eventually it will dawn on you that you're more like him than anyone else. As your relationship with your mother declines, the one you have with your father will pick up. You will stop being afraid of him. You will enjoy calling him out for being a racist prick (among other things), and you'll be delighted when he responds with an insecure cackle instead of telling you you're too young to understand. (Even he knows the I'm-older-than-you card doesn't work past a certain point.) Most importantly, you'll enjoy talking to and spending time with him, and you'll genuinely feel awful when you don't see him for two years because life gets in the way.

And what about Adam? I'm sorry to tell you he doesn't go anywhere in the next five years--which is to say, not out of your life or anywhere in his own. I wish you would leave him, but you won't for quite a while. I know he's safe, and I know his family is good to you--probably better than they ought. You're going to break his heart, but it will be good for him in the end. He'll even get married. And so will you, for that matter. The first neighbor you meet after you move out of Adam's apartment and into your very own will introduce you to your husband.

No, you won't ever be the marrying type. Neither will your husband, Evan. But you do love each other very much. Within a week of finding out you've been accepted to grad school in Canada, you will be married to him, if only so he can come with you.

Don't worry that those dreams you have are delusional impossibilities. You will start going to class, and you'll somehow manage to hold that expensive piece of paper in your hand five and half years from now.
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