Thursday, September 2, 2010

I'm not broke... yet.

I haven't told my dad about my current job situation, yet.  Why? Well:

1.  He supported me growing up (obviously).
2.  He supported me during college.
3.  He supported me after my divorce when I still had a huge mortgage payment.
4.  He supported me when I moved to a brand new city and needed help.
5.  I owe him, literally, a million dollars.  Which he is too generous to ever ask me to return.

I have, needless to say, the best father in the entire world.  Yet I can't bring myself to admit defeat to him.  His first response will be "Do you need money?"  And I, shaking my head 'no' with tears in my eyes, will probably have to say 'yes.'  Again.

I'm in my late (ugh) twenties, and I still need my daddy's support.  How sad is that?

And, in case you were wondering... this new "job" sucks.  All I've been doing is wasting money, time, and energy.  Keep your fingers crossed out there in the blogosphere, will ya?  I could use a little luck right now.


Here's a poem:

"Journey to Damascus"

It all went wrong without asking my permission.
Everything I wanted, gone,
like the dew on new spring mornings
after the sun yawns, stretches, brushes it aside
like wrinkled sheets.

Wonder, if you must, why a lady young as I
could be so broken.
It was just a vase, a cheap, empty vase, and a careless
mistake.  Dropped on cheap laminate,
imitation of wood.
Imitation of life.
It was so long ago.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Drove from dawn til dusk that muggy July.
Crying, when I wasn’t screaming songs
of broken hearts, broken lives, broken people.
People just like me.

Following the signs, though not really reading.
Speed Limit: 70
That must be for those who don’t want to crash.
I’m going 90, faking happy at last.
Don’t think I’d mind getting lost on I-20,
somewhere between ATL and the end of it all.

Wasn’t I happy once?
God, where did my life take this critical turn?
And I don't mean that religiously, though maybe I should.
Thought I followed the right signs, but I didn’t really read them.
Should have seen the inevitable from the very beginning.

Been almost a year.  Been quite a restless year.
Looking around this house full of wasted time:
memories gone or fading, missing out on life, but I'm alive.
I'm a statue here, waiting for a shine, stagnant, filthy, 
Left here alone with these broken pieces of time
Waiting for a voice to call me toward a direction -
any which way will do. 
Just call, and I'll answer - 
and maybe, for once, I'll follow through.


  1. Great poem Kelli. I really like this one.

  2. Kelli, I hit a few rough spots in my late twenties and early thirties where my dad was generous enough to help me out. It happens to the best of us. It's easy for me to tell you not to feel bad, but I know. I've been there. It doesn't matter what anyone says, you will still feel bad. I always did. I just buy my dad really great birthday and Christmas presents now that I am in better shape financially. He won't let me pay him back.

    I love the poem. I enjoyed your haikus as well.