The Glass Castle

I just finished "The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls. It was sad in a was I'm not used to---no self-flagellation, no "woe-is-me" bullcrap. She just tells her life story like people tell you about a class they had a vague interest in.

It's all very cut-and-dried. How their life was bad, but never seemed too bad. How she finally realized that it really was that bad. Changing her life, becoming better.

It was really good. I have to say that. She tells the story without too much emotion, but you can feel the hope and adventure in the parents, the desperation in the kids.

But man, I don't know if I could go through all that. I've never appreciated my stable upbringing as much as I did as I read her book. I never caught myself on fire trying to make my own dinner. There was always enough food. My dad never came home and beat my mom. We never moved in the middle of the night because my dad screwed up again.

But she not only survived, but thrived. It's pretty great. You should read it.

A Disclaimer...

Man, do I suck at this or what? I've decided something---I can't do this. You know what I can do though? Muse about books.

So, I'm going to deviate a little bit. Instead of writing something and y'all reading it, I'm going to write about some of the books I read. Not all of them, because I don't have that kind of time. But, yeah here we go. Ready...? Go.

The First Edition

ELLIE

There’s nothing like living like you’re dying. Don’t believe me? Try it. Go on, try it. Eat the last piece of cake. Take that trip you can’t really afford. It won’t follow you. Regrets? They’re the worst.

Before you lay into me about being all morbid, you gotta understand something. I am dying. Not in the Fight Club “we’re all dying” kind of way. The real way. The way where I spend time in chemotherapy each week, where my parents pretend that there really never was serious talk of divorce, where I can’t go to school like normal kids because it makes me too tired and everyone treats me like I’m going to drop dead in class kind of way. Everyone tiptoes around me, trying not to say the “d” word. No, it’s not damn. It’s dead. Though, I suppose, it could always be damn dead. Because when your blood is literally killing you, you end up dead.

It’s called Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia. Otherwise known as hell. Did you know about half of the people who have leukemia actually die from it? So for every case where you hear about someone beating the cancer, you’ve got people like me. People who lose. I’m not the one who focuses on my death. Me? I’m trying to live. My dad? He sees death in me.

I’m Elliote Andrea Osbourne. Ellie to everyone but my mother, who thought it would it be obvious that I was a girl because there is an “e” at the end of my name. Many people still miss it. Oh, and no, I’m not related to Ozzy in any way. Trust me, when you need all the edges you can get to be normal, even a distant relation as famous as Ozzy, you at least get cool points. I’m 16 years old, and I’m dying. I mentioned that, didn’t I? Sometimes I go days without that though crossing through my brain. Sometimes it dominates.

I live in relative comfort in Suburbia. Well, a lovely suburb of San Diego called Cherry Creek. There is no creek, and as far as I know, there have never been cherry trees. A quaint city of about fifty thousand people, there’s not much that I expect to happen. I don’t know most of the kids in my high school, partially due to the fact that I don’t go to high school. I went my freshman year, but after that it was home tutoring. I tell Mom that I don’t need a tutor. She says that just because I’m dying doesn’t mean that I don’t need to learn. Some battles just aren’t meant to be won.

My mom is the breadwinner in my family. A little different, I know, but it works. She is employed by some huge advertising company. It’s not a Fortune 500 or anything, but it holds its own when every year. I’d tell you who, but do you really know anything about advertising companies? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She’s on indefinite hiatus until I die. That’s not what she says, but she hasn’t been to work since it was decided that I probably wasn’t going to get better. Her and Dad fight about it often enough for me to know it’s a point of contention (see, Mom, I do know some SAT words), but that the family is more important than her career. That’s only been true since I got bumped up to the terminal list.

My dad is a schoolteacher. High school English, in fact. So if I were in school, I’d probably be in his class. Talk about unfair. You only get so many chances in high school, and I used all mine up before I even knew I was sick. My dad is a bit like a walking mat. You won’t notice in school, but at home Mom ignores him whenever possible. He cooks, she watches TV. Actually, now they cook together. It’s the weirdest thing.

The only person who sees my point of view is Jamie. He’s the boy next door. We grew up together, and our parents thought we’d end up together. So unless we pull a Romeo and Juliet, it’s not going to happen. He decided that on the days I'm morbid, he'll be cheerful, and the days I'm cheerful, he'll be morbid. It's really cute.

The First Blog

First and foremost, I'd like to thank everyone who's actually reading this. Yay for coming!

Just so you know, this blog is going to be a story. I'll be posting installment every week, so check back.

No, I don't have an idea yet. So I'm going to go work on that. Check back next week for the first installment!