As much of my life as I’ve spent getting comfortable with the idea that I like my never-going-to-be-wealthy career choices (nonprofit with a side of writer) and that it is wise and okay to eat what my body tells me and love whatever shape comes out of being healthful and sane (short, chubby), and being proud of showing off Frank (also never going to be rich [writer], also socially awkward sometimes,) a weekend with my family can wash a lot of that away.
So now I feel like a jerk for thinking about myself when I’m supposed to be mourning my Nana, and also actually being sad about Nana, and also just feeling weird and insecure and like a goofy teenager all over again, and also extra double feeling like a jerk because I know all of the insecurity and worry is for no reason and manufactured by my own brain, because my family’s cool and likes me and I shouldn’t worry about it.
It’s strange how you can go along, feeling like an adult in control of her own life, fairly independent and cool, and then revert back to a complete adolescent mess in the course of thirty-six hours. I guess most people’s families make them feel strange, to some degree. I am just lucky that it’s only my extended family that freaks me out. My nuclear family–mom, dad, sister, and brother–are pretty much low stress. I can’t imagine going through this every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and random visit. Oh families. So weird.