Mjarc
What do you do with three siblings at your boring apartment for an entire evening? I needed answers for that question ten minutes ago, b/c the family has been here all night, and I'm not much of an entertainer if there isn't alcohol involved. Though I have to give props to my youngest sister for cracking a few down the old pipe whilst bored. A real trooper, that one.
I don't like reading things that you wish were about you, and you wish you could make come true, but then you realize you've already burned that bridge a while back. I don't like that at all.
I'm having trouble turning the computer off for the evening, and putting it to rest in the bag. I'm also having trouble realizing that I won't be back in the pad for the next three weeks. Merry trails to me, I guess, but it still seems like its so far away, and I shouldn't have to worry about it all. Leave it to a religious holiday to force me to spend two nights in the parents basement in the toyroom, away from all my stuff, away from all my canned goods, and away from the bitchin' night life down here in oh-so-vacant Normal, Illinois during Winter Break. Fuck the people that go to school down here. What's the rush home so important for? You've seen your parents your entire life. You can't still be that attached, can you? Fuckers.
This is the boredom speaking. Drinking alone on Saturday nights will do that to you, though my motives were valid -- I wanted to get to sleep, which didn't happen. Once again, the clock struck five, and I was still up, with a sore back, hunched over the laptop finishing up a mixtape and some extraneous writing. One part had to do with chasing Amelda Marcos down in a gondola on the watery canals of Venice, trying to throw shoes at her, all the while screaming, "Buy them you aristocratic bitch!" I had a dream that I was Rambo, and another that had Dennis Eckersly beaning me in the head during a pre-season showdown. I have a feeling I might be going insane. Only the constant shaking of my hands can either confirm or deny this theory.
The siblings are unrolling their sleeping bags in the room next to mine, getting ready for a long, cold night of sleep. I feel bad for the little suckers. They're going to wake up tomorrow morning with sore throats, sore backs, and sore thoughts in my direction. "Why couldn't we have just stayed in the hotel with Mom and Dad?" they'll ask, and I won't have a proper answer. The only thing I can say is, "Because." Because I opened my big mouth and suggested that they all stay here. Whoops.
They're here because we all went to dinner at a local restaurant with one grandfather, one stepgrandmother, one aunt, one uncle, and one cousin. Boring? Yes. My grandpa, who's old, senile, and almost completely deaf, whips out a packet of photographs and practically throws them at my mother. "Deb, hon. I forgot to give this set of doubles to you the last time I saw you. Here you go." Mom opens them, has a confused look on her face, and turns back to him. "Dad. These pictures are from 1988." He shrugs his shoulders. "I know. Like I said, I forgot to give them to you." I rummage through the pictures. One has my little brother, age 14, standing up next to the tv stand, barely able to touch the top. He was 1 at the time. I was nine, sitting at our old Amiga computer, probably playing Defender of the Crown, sitting next to a childhood friend I haven't seen since 1994. My sisters were small, tan, and smiling away on our old, unscreened-in backporch. My dad was skinny. I look at him as I hold up his picture and say, "Hey, Dad! Where's the rest of you?" He looks unhappy for a split-second, but jabs me about my own size, so all's fair.
1988. How have the years treated you? I'm hoping something similar happens tomorrow afternoon in Springfield with real grandmother number 2. She seems to think this is going to be her last religious holiday season with us. I'm not so sure that she may be joking. We have bets on who'll she'll yell at first. I always bet on me, and I usually win. It'd be nice to start of the week with a perfect gambling record, you know, before I hit Vegas and all. I'll keep you posted.
What do you do with three siblings at your boring apartment for an entire evening? I needed answers for that question ten minutes ago, b/c the family has been here all night, and I'm not much of an entertainer if there isn't alcohol involved. Though I have to give props to my youngest sister for cracking a few down the old pipe whilst bored. A real trooper, that one.
I don't like reading things that you wish were about you, and you wish you could make come true, but then you realize you've already burned that bridge a while back. I don't like that at all.
I'm having trouble turning the computer off for the evening, and putting it to rest in the bag. I'm also having trouble realizing that I won't be back in the pad for the next three weeks. Merry trails to me, I guess, but it still seems like its so far away, and I shouldn't have to worry about it all. Leave it to a religious holiday to force me to spend two nights in the parents basement in the toyroom, away from all my stuff, away from all my canned goods, and away from the bitchin' night life down here in oh-so-vacant Normal, Illinois during Winter Break. Fuck the people that go to school down here. What's the rush home so important for? You've seen your parents your entire life. You can't still be that attached, can you? Fuckers.
This is the boredom speaking. Drinking alone on Saturday nights will do that to you, though my motives were valid -- I wanted to get to sleep, which didn't happen. Once again, the clock struck five, and I was still up, with a sore back, hunched over the laptop finishing up a mixtape and some extraneous writing. One part had to do with chasing Amelda Marcos down in a gondola on the watery canals of Venice, trying to throw shoes at her, all the while screaming, "Buy them you aristocratic bitch!" I had a dream that I was Rambo, and another that had Dennis Eckersly beaning me in the head during a pre-season showdown. I have a feeling I might be going insane. Only the constant shaking of my hands can either confirm or deny this theory.
The siblings are unrolling their sleeping bags in the room next to mine, getting ready for a long, cold night of sleep. I feel bad for the little suckers. They're going to wake up tomorrow morning with sore throats, sore backs, and sore thoughts in my direction. "Why couldn't we have just stayed in the hotel with Mom and Dad?" they'll ask, and I won't have a proper answer. The only thing I can say is, "Because." Because I opened my big mouth and suggested that they all stay here. Whoops.
They're here because we all went to dinner at a local restaurant with one grandfather, one stepgrandmother, one aunt, one uncle, and one cousin. Boring? Yes. My grandpa, who's old, senile, and almost completely deaf, whips out a packet of photographs and practically throws them at my mother. "Deb, hon. I forgot to give this set of doubles to you the last time I saw you. Here you go." Mom opens them, has a confused look on her face, and turns back to him. "Dad. These pictures are from 1988." He shrugs his shoulders. "I know. Like I said, I forgot to give them to you." I rummage through the pictures. One has my little brother, age 14, standing up next to the tv stand, barely able to touch the top. He was 1 at the time. I was nine, sitting at our old Amiga computer, probably playing Defender of the Crown, sitting next to a childhood friend I haven't seen since 1994. My sisters were small, tan, and smiling away on our old, unscreened-in backporch. My dad was skinny. I look at him as I hold up his picture and say, "Hey, Dad! Where's the rest of you?" He looks unhappy for a split-second, but jabs me about my own size, so all's fair.
1988. How have the years treated you? I'm hoping something similar happens tomorrow afternoon in Springfield with real grandmother number 2. She seems to think this is going to be her last religious holiday season with us. I'm not so sure that she may be joking. We have bets on who'll she'll yell at first. I always bet on me, and I usually win. It'd be nice to start of the week with a perfect gambling record, you know, before I hit Vegas and all. I'll keep you posted.
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