A future

I just finished The Memory Keeper's Daughter, and what I took from that, one of the many things, was a distaste for walls.

Let me begin again.

A few years back my brother graduated with his BA in Finance.

Let me begin again.

I am a high achiever; one of ten year plans and contingency plans, systems, lists, patterns, goals to accomplish. My brother and I are opposites, completely. I love heat and humidity; his favorite temperature is close to below freezing. Imagine him wearing Birkenstock sandals in the middle of a Chicago, barefoot and smiling. I keep papers for years, recall memories in a broken necklace chain. In short, I am a hoarder. My brother grew up in a closet-sized room, which seemed gigantic for its sparsity and cleanliness. He had beige carpet in his teens and that carpet is still sparkling. I can't seem to get enough of school and my brother seems like he can't imagine himself bound by it. I don't worry about scrounging for change for the bus; my brother blindly taps his number keys in complex calculations of funds, money, futures and so on. I'll confess my deepest desires and fears to a stranger, welcome a newcomer with a smile generally reserved for the familiar and intimate; my brother approaches such situations with a mask, a blaise attitude that is difficult to chip away. And it has always been this way.

Let me begin again.

I was chatting with my brother today, asking him if he had applied to grad school yet. This has been a battle for years now; my mother and I are always of the opinion that he should at least apply. He mentioned that he wanted to go to law school and then it was on to get a MBA ... as long as he could find someone to pay for it or work at the same time. He never wants to be broke again. In this conversation, yet again, my brother said that he had not applied to grad school. There were a number of reasons: the deadlines were too soon, he was comfortable in his job during this recession, most people in his field wait until 28 or 29 and he's only turning 25 this year.

Let me begin again.

I have no idea what my brother wants out of life. He's never really told me. I just assumed that we were similar in being over achievers. I forgot how tender that balance we have is. He is my opposite, my mirror reflection. And this has kept us close. He's one of my best friends. When my heart was broken, I leaned on my brother. He has taught me a great deal about being strong, about letting the water wash over you until the tide turns back again.

Let me begin again.

I am resolving to let my brother lead his life. I don't know the path he imagines, but who ever knows the secret desires of another? Despite what I reveal here and in other places, there are parts of myself that are too fleshy, raw, bloody, tender, places I protect even from mentioning aloud. This I gleaned from The Memory Keeper's Daughter and saw in my life.

Let me begin again ... on my own path.

Dissertation page 122. That's where I stopped this past Monday. I decided to buy art instead of furniture from a new friend I met this past summer. Who needs a place to dine when a world exists in a print?

Tomorrow, I begin the dissertation, again, from where I left off.