I come in after an eventful night, and though readied for bed, I sit at the computer (now in my room) as I have so many nights before. This desk, cleaner than ever, is still a lovely mess, but not enough that I don't notice a foreign stack of pictures just out of sight behind my monitor. Granted, this is really the only safe spot for them to be without being scattered all over the place. I glance at the top picture. It's my grandparents on my mother's side, back when my grandpa was still alive. Ah, so it's an OLD picture stack. I try to avoid it. I wonder who put them here- my brother or my dad, now that they are both full residents of this house instead of my mother. I try and I try and I try to resist. i do not want to do that to myself right now. it's late. who knows what songs might come on the radio. Eventually, as always, I give in to temptation. Temptation? Temptation to what? The temptation to make myself all saddened and weepy and completely avoiding all that I have been trying to accomplish today? I certainly am a strange girl. I pick up the photos and start going through.

I start going through and there are pictures of everyone on my mom's side of the family. Back then, and true still now, when I spoke of "my family" I spoke of the P-skis. My dad's side of the family was like a foreign country, and for some reason I accumulated a lot of frequent flier miles when ever some fairly important occasion occured. I've always been afraid to fly.

I start going through and I realize something: I have old pictures. I remember these moments. I was alive, most likely, when all these were taken. I am 18 years old. I have old pictures. Back when Grandpa was alive. Back when so and so still had that hair style. Back when everyone wore stupid sweaters and 80's clothes because, mostly, it WAS the 80's. Back when they smoked different cigarettes. Back when we were young and we all had rectangular heads. Back when her house had the furniture this way, his house didn't have the pool and which house had that hallway, cause I just can't place it. Back when back when back when...

And there are numerous pictures of my mother when she was younger and she had longer and curlier hair. There are pictures of her with me, with my brother, my dad, by herself. A picture of her in line with me at the baby beauty contest-- number 105. A picture of her in front of that green car we had so long ago, the one that eventually spun in circles before going down the drain in my dream. Pictures and pictures of her smiling. As poorly as she usually speaks of the past now, her smile was radiant then.* I wonder if she was faking it, or if she was genuinely happy. And if so, where everything went unchangably sour. And how could I not have known, being the observant little child that I was. How could I have overlooked something that seems now to be so large? I don't think I was the only one.

I wonder if I would go back as I so often wish I could. Back to birthday parties at my grandparents, pool or no pool. Back to not having to worry about my hair on my rectangular head. Back to life in old pictures. Back to staying up "all night" with my parents to try to talk to Paula Abdul on the radio. Back to pretending to fall asleep on the floor in front of the tv during the Simpsons so I could watch Married With Children and In Living Color (only to find out years later that they ALWAYS knew). Back to mom's bad back and reading Ramona Quimby on the floor. Back to being so sure that I knew everything that was going on. Back to being positive that, in a world that was quickly changing its "till death do us part" bit, my parents wouldn't fall victim. Back to old pictures.

Back when back when back when..

If I only knew now what I knew then.

It's 4:13am, and I promise I'm okay.

*Not that it isn't now, that's not what I'm saying.