Some late night blogging to ask that everyone think some good thoughts for my brother who, as I type this, is somewhere over the Atlantic on a plane headed to Ireland. He's going there for a job interview. I'm asking for good thoughts not just because it would be obviously cool if he got this job and I could help him move and visit him all the time, and I would have a free place to stay in Ireland, and that would totally rule. But I am asking for good thoughts because he really needs this job. Not so much in the sense of "he'll be eating ramen noodles for weeks because he is poor," but more in the "he's been unhappy for such a long time and he really needs to feel good about his work and be somewhere that he's appreciated" sense. Trust me when I say that he needs this.
My brother and I have been keeping with our typical communication cycle: I call him, he doesn't call me back, I call him again, he calls me back but at the most inopportune moment so I can't take the call, I'll call him back, he doesn't return the call, I send him a text message, he calls me and leaves a message, I call him back but he's in rehearsal, etc. It's been more than a month since he and I have talked.
This makes me really sad.
My brother called me while I was in rehearsal at Colonial Playhouse and left the following message:
Hi. This is Tom, I'm calling for Katie? I don't know if you remember me or not, but I think you and I grew up together? I was what was known as an "older brother." I was the guy who would pin you down for nuggies and you would bite me? I occupied the blue room in the front of the house, the one that now contains all the boxes of our parent's crap. Anyway, if you can remember me, I would love to get in contact with you again.
In the last two weeks I have really missed Tom hardcore, so I rejunvinated my efforts to contact him. Not only was I missing just chatting with him, I also missed seeing him -- I hadn't seen him since...hmmm...God, I am so embarrassed to say this, but I think it was Christmas. People, he lives within 20 miles of me! I had this urge to see him and hang out with him and be a pesty tagalong sister. I had all these great stories to tell him too: Prince Fucking Charming! Office gossip and work stories! Henry Rollins! Uncle vs. Niece Photo Contest! Parties! Colonial Playhouse Shows! Stanley! Grad school updates! Me, possibly going to Ireland!
I found out from our parents that he had gotten the job interview in Belfast.
Tom and I finally connected today as we managed to get a hold of one another while he was waiting to board his plane in the airport.
I couldn't think of a single story to tell him.
I fucking hate that. I have so much that I want to share with him, and my mind went clean, like a black board that an eraser had passed over it, smudging and blurring the lists until all that remained were dust and vauge chalk outlines reminding me there were things I wanted to tell him, but now couldn't.
He began telling me bits and pieces about what had been going on with him -- a little bit about the job he was interviewing for, about the last show he directed at La Salle Red Herring.
"I saw Henry Rollins," I said lamely and completely apropos to nothing. My brain was screaming at me because I had been sitting in silence on the end of a conversation with a person I had been dying to talk to just hours before, someone who I had left bragging voice mail messages claiming to have awesome stories to share. Say! Some! Thing! ANYTHING! Henry Rollins is what came out, and after I said it I felt like such a tool.
"Listen, Tom, I have really good stories, I swear, but they're too much to get into while you're in an airport terminal. We need to get together when you get back, for dinner or something and I'll tell all." And plus, by then I will have gotten control over my basic speech functions and learned the rules of conversation, I thought.
So that's the plan. I wished him luck and safe travels and we hung up.
Coupled with my sincere hope that the interview goes well for him, is of course, my insane envy of him. That's never more than two steps behind. Seriously. The man just hopped on a plane to Ireland for a job interview. Why can't I do that?
I think it's because I'm a sissy. No, really. I love living with Kelly and I am very comfortable here in the burbs of Philly and I think a huge part of me is really terrified to leave or do anything that would disturb this comfortable, safe limbo I've got going on.
But listen to me, turning this enty which was only going to be a couple lines long and asking for some good vibes for my older brother, into all about me.
Tom, for your sake, I hope you ace this interview and get the job. Because you're deserving of it and it could be everything you've ever wanted in a job. I'll be sad if you leave and move to Ireland though, because damn, if this is what our communication is like while you're in Philly, I think we'll talk once a year at best if you're accross the fucking ocean. But I'm being selfish again. I love you. Rock it, bro.
My brother and I have been keeping with our typical communication cycle: I call him, he doesn't call me back, I call him again, he calls me back but at the most inopportune moment so I can't take the call, I'll call him back, he doesn't return the call, I send him a text message, he calls me and leaves a message, I call him back but he's in rehearsal, etc. It's been more than a month since he and I have talked.
This makes me really sad.
My brother called me while I was in rehearsal at Colonial Playhouse and left the following message:
Hi. This is Tom, I'm calling for Katie? I don't know if you remember me or not, but I think you and I grew up together? I was what was known as an "older brother." I was the guy who would pin you down for nuggies and you would bite me? I occupied the blue room in the front of the house, the one that now contains all the boxes of our parent's crap. Anyway, if you can remember me, I would love to get in contact with you again.
In the last two weeks I have really missed Tom hardcore, so I rejunvinated my efforts to contact him. Not only was I missing just chatting with him, I also missed seeing him -- I hadn't seen him since...hmmm...God, I am so embarrassed to say this, but I think it was Christmas. People, he lives within 20 miles of me! I had this urge to see him and hang out with him and be a pesty tagalong sister. I had all these great stories to tell him too: Prince Fucking Charming! Office gossip and work stories! Henry Rollins! Uncle vs. Niece Photo Contest! Parties! Colonial Playhouse Shows! Stanley! Grad school updates! Me, possibly going to Ireland!
I found out from our parents that he had gotten the job interview in Belfast.
Tom and I finally connected today as we managed to get a hold of one another while he was waiting to board his plane in the airport.
I couldn't think of a single story to tell him.
I fucking hate that. I have so much that I want to share with him, and my mind went clean, like a black board that an eraser had passed over it, smudging and blurring the lists until all that remained were dust and vauge chalk outlines reminding me there were things I wanted to tell him, but now couldn't.
He began telling me bits and pieces about what had been going on with him -- a little bit about the job he was interviewing for, about the last show he directed at La Salle Red Herring.
"I saw Henry Rollins," I said lamely and completely apropos to nothing. My brain was screaming at me because I had been sitting in silence on the end of a conversation with a person I had been dying to talk to just hours before, someone who I had left bragging voice mail messages claiming to have awesome stories to share. Say! Some! Thing! ANYTHING! Henry Rollins is what came out, and after I said it I felt like such a tool.
"Listen, Tom, I have really good stories, I swear, but they're too much to get into while you're in an airport terminal. We need to get together when you get back, for dinner or something and I'll tell all." And plus, by then I will have gotten control over my basic speech functions and learned the rules of conversation, I thought.
So that's the plan. I wished him luck and safe travels and we hung up.
Coupled with my sincere hope that the interview goes well for him, is of course, my insane envy of him. That's never more than two steps behind. Seriously. The man just hopped on a plane to Ireland for a job interview. Why can't I do that?
I think it's because I'm a sissy. No, really. I love living with Kelly and I am very comfortable here in the burbs of Philly and I think a huge part of me is really terrified to leave or do anything that would disturb this comfortable, safe limbo I've got going on.
But listen to me, turning this enty which was only going to be a couple lines long and asking for some good vibes for my older brother, into all about me.
Tom, for your sake, I hope you ace this interview and get the job. Because you're deserving of it and it could be everything you've ever wanted in a job. I'll be sad if you leave and move to Ireland though, because damn, if this is what our communication is like while you're in Philly, I think we'll talk once a year at best if you're accross the fucking ocean. But I'm being selfish again. I love you. Rock it, bro.
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