And so the slow ebbing got into me head
God, I remember thinking
What the hell what the kell is going on
and then I remembered the breath in, and the breath out
and suddenly,
my world made sense
in that terribly nihilistic, post-modern sense
where there is no God
no Hell, no Heaven
just what I make of this life
and so I lay
eyes on the ceiling
falling all over my own thoughts
am I in love
am I in trouble
am I alone
am I okay.
Let there be a God
a light, a dream, a hope, a spark
so that all this may not be in vain.
Praise God.
Ugh.
I have shitty days. I hate the days when you’re woken up by either mariachi music or the smell of acetate. Those days when the day is cloudy, it’s too warm to wear a sweatshirt and too cold to wear a T, and everything you’re trying to do keeps ending in failure.
I’d just finished the first batch of homebrew, the beer I’ve been allowing to ferment in a huge 6.5 gallon glass jug in the kitchen. The next step of the process was to sanitize everything (about 30 min) and to bottle the mixture once mixing in some sugar water to cause carbonation. Once I got everything ready and clean, I found that my hose had grown a bacterial infection on the inside, and thus could not be used. I had to then run to the hardware store in traffic, and then come back to the house, resanatize everything, and start over with the bottling. This would have been fine, except all the sinks in the house are being refinished today, and the stupid goddamn guys doing parked their huge van right in the middle of the driveway.
Right in the middle.
So: I come home, and Bryce is pulling out. I figure I’ll park in his spot, go inside and ask the finishing dudes to move their van, then come out and move my car again before Bryce gets back.
Ha.
As I’m waiting for him and Amanda to pull out, he starts making gestures out the back window of the truck. Perplexed, I reach out the window and motion for him to back out. I figure he doesn’t think he has enough room to make the 180 out of the driveway to turn out of our cul-de-sac and I start backing my car up. As I’m pulling backwards, he backs up next to me yelling:
“Faggot, FAGGOT! Don’t park in my spot!”
Are you kidding me.
Key notes:
Where did he learn to act like this?
Why does Amanda find this attractive?
Why is my father so entirely pacifistic about this behavior?
Oh well. UC in a few months, and then I get to move out. Both Mom and Dad have promised to visit regularly, and hopefully things with Bryce will get better once I’m out of the house. Mom and Dad are moving to Boston eventually, so he’ll have to move out and will need some help in the long run any way.
Imagine this, if you will. I awoke to the sound of Ping discovering a puppy that happened to have spent the night at her house thanks to some wonderful friends of the owner who were going out of town.
Allow this to gently, if not utterly serenely, vibrate through your skull with the power of satan in a high pitched, overly-modulated girly voice: “OMGGG ITS SOOOO CUTTEEEEE”. Yeah. The contraction was SPOKEN improperly.
After I freed the poor creature from the hands of my mistress (read: locked the damn thing outside) we made one eyed jacks and then drove to my house for study. We’ve been going to about nine hours.