saved by the bell...

is on tv as i type this, cole asleep on the couch, shades are glowing. dustin diamond and laugh tracks. i've just finished the latest harry potter book and feel violence. wrapped up in that world. injustice.
it's been a strange few days. my sister came and went. we saw manhattan, the sights. drank guinness and white russians, ate pizza and rice pudding. my feet are blistered and rotting and i'm sad. why these are linked i'm not sure. maybe the alcohol in my system links all.
it had been six months since i'd seen a relative. phone calls and occasional e-mails; either felt one way heading west. i get the impression that they are as disconnected from each other as i am, space not being the obstacle but anger, stubborness, and all the familial traits of the family French.
katie is my closest. my sister, twins seperated by time, ultimate confidante. she's older now. she owns a house and lives with a man. i have two day old laundry laying on my couch. we spent a week together. we grew up together. we were roommates. this time we were tourists. she dragged my through the city, when she tired, i pushed her a little further, we saw as much as we could have; but we didn't talk. we sipped beers exchanging knowing glances, exchanging pleasentries, quoting movies, old hat. it was on our last night that i was hurt. my feet and my heart. we walked all day, i dreaming about sleeping with my girl; her wanting to see it all. we finished our expedition late when my girl told me she was going to be up all night with an old friend. they had coke if i wanted to join them. she was drunk. i declined in favor of sitting on the roof with my sister and the late night skyline. i peeked over the edge to see my girl going into her building laughing loosely with a tall guy. i smoked a cigarette. katie talked a little, same stuff. then we talked old hat, old pain, still water stuff. we let these things out sometimes, and it comes out the same. i talked my girl trouble, she talked her boy trouble, we talked family and friend trouble and we finished talking and i began the harry potter book.
a few hours later my sister is on a plane, a silent goodbye. took some pictures, drank some beer, shared a hug. i was reading the book as we closed in on our parting destinations. her to her real world, me to my job and addictions. at work i called her, but she didn't answer. later she called back and i was working. some time in the early morning we made a connection. shared our solitude at a safe distance. then i resumed my work and an addiction.
i just finished the book, and i feel violence. arm shaking, glass shattering violence. rage. it's not mine, it's real, it's a book, it's my life. dumbledore is dead and harry is alone. seperation anxiety.