smoocher's notes

I sent off for my original birth certificate a few months ago. Finally the good folks at the IDPH have cashed the check which indicates my certificate is on the way. I’ve been waiting…and alternating between obsessing about what will be on it and completely forgetting about it, which wasn’t all that hard since being adopted isn’t a huge deal on my day-to-day basis. This shouldn’t be relevant at all…my parents are two amazing people that have raised me since I was six weeks old.

But it is.

It really is.

I have questions that I might finally get answered. I say ‘might’ because there’s no way I can know if my biological parents want to be found and if I do find them, it’s not for sure that they’ll answer my questions or even be able to.

The lines of communication are open, but there’s static on the call. Always static…and what was meant…in the words said…is missed. And what wasn’t said…the pause…the divide…is the loudest thing you’ve never heard. Words that used to interlock come up all edges.

It’s like, the best that it was casts this massive shadow over what it is. Both always pale in comparison to what it should be.

And it leaves, this confusion. Is the path being taken, just the shortest way to forever or the longest way to the end?

Always with the confusion.

(originally posted 10/4/2007: relatively the same girl woman, four years later…hurray for perpetual romanticism and those stupid rose-colored glasses)

I’ve been watching rom-coms for a good portion of the day. Instead of watching til the end, I turn them off right after one or both of the main characters does something to screw things up. The inevitable happy ending isn’t something I care to vibe with right now.