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he's a hormonal nightmare
Nov. 12th, 2000 09:16 pmI go home very soon now. Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday FRIDAY. Punkin: "I might have to put christmas lights in my old bedroom and close the door and my eyes and pretend its years ago and break glass." Yes. Yes. Thanksgiving break is the best break of all. Freshman year, it was the first time I'd been home since Labor Day, so I was very glad to see everything, and I had the first box from that boy and ran all over town in his pants for a week and had my hair trimmed and listened to Punker's Cinnamon CD five thousand times. Everyone was very glad to see me and very nice to me, and it was just odd and surreal. Last year, I don't really remember, except being overjoyed that the more destructive elements of Splut were not contained in one small room for a whole week. birth of the triplet
Christmas break is nice too. We made that Godawful video that year. And the hockey puck peanut butter cups. Good Intention #254. I still cannot believe her mother actually ate one.
I will lie behind furniture, wrapped around chairs, and pretend I am four. It is the most fun game after sleeping. My family will be gone Saturday and Sunday (they ALWAYS, UNFAILINGLY take off for somewhere the day or the day after I get back. they know to give me room to reacclimate), so I can mindfuck myself into thinking its 1998 and I Feel Fine. I am going to lie on the living room floor and play loud music and watch dubbed anime with the sound turned down and build myself into a little temple of empty diet Coke cans and sticks from faux corn dogs. The path to serenity is littered with them. I will be so happy to have a CD player that will hold more than one at a time again. I am such a lazy thing.
I want it to snow at home and be perfectly clear down here.
Dad wants to make me a doctor appointment at home, but I would rather allow my lungs to fill with fluid and die than let that slimeball old man I always have to go to lay a finger on me. evil. evil evil evil evil. I saw his slimeball kid and his kid's slimeball friend the other day. Separately. It was odd, because I haven't seen anyone from home for a long, long, long time, and then there was Keith, and Chris Barmann who I didn't recognize for a minute. He didn't say anything to me, but I darted in the door under his arm, and he didn't let it hit me in the arse on his way out, so. They know better than to try to talk to me. a) I'm going to snark at them from years of abuse, or b) I'm not going to answer at all.
Elastica. Why do I persist in forgetting that I own that.
(it's hard to make a stew when the meat keeps looking up at you)
I should go poke the Java some more. or something. I want to go to bed, but I went to sleep at three-thirty last night and woke up at one thirty this afternoon, so I feel obligated to stay up a while longer.
Christmas break is nice too. We made that Godawful video that year. And the hockey puck peanut butter cups. Good Intention #254. I still cannot believe her mother actually ate one.
I will lie behind furniture, wrapped around chairs, and pretend I am four. It is the most fun game after sleeping. My family will be gone Saturday and Sunday (they ALWAYS, UNFAILINGLY take off for somewhere the day or the day after I get back. they know to give me room to reacclimate), so I can mindfuck myself into thinking its 1998 and I Feel Fine. I am going to lie on the living room floor and play loud music and watch dubbed anime with the sound turned down and build myself into a little temple of empty diet Coke cans and sticks from faux corn dogs. The path to serenity is littered with them. I will be so happy to have a CD player that will hold more than one at a time again. I am such a lazy thing.
I want it to snow at home and be perfectly clear down here.
Dad wants to make me a doctor appointment at home, but I would rather allow my lungs to fill with fluid and die than let that slimeball old man I always have to go to lay a finger on me. evil. evil evil evil evil. I saw his slimeball kid and his kid's slimeball friend the other day. Separately. It was odd, because I haven't seen anyone from home for a long, long, long time, and then there was Keith, and Chris Barmann who I didn't recognize for a minute. He didn't say anything to me, but I darted in the door under his arm, and he didn't let it hit me in the arse on his way out, so. They know better than to try to talk to me. a) I'm going to snark at them from years of abuse, or b) I'm not going to answer at all.
Elastica. Why do I persist in forgetting that I own that.
(it's hard to make a stew when the meat keeps looking up at you)
I should go poke the Java some more. or something. I want to go to bed, but I went to sleep at three-thirty last night and woke up at one thirty this afternoon, so I feel obligated to stay up a while longer.