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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.
Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.
Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.
I couldn't be more right now.
Buy "Civilised Conversation..." Merchandise! Please? All the cool kids are doing it....
Please help me pay for college by purchasing items from Amazon.com through this link!!
13 October 2001 | 1:16 AM
Homecoming: The Real Thing.
Okay.
I�m scribbling this down now� I�ll probably type it later. (Well, duh.)
Okay.
I�m beginning to wonder if coming home was such a brilliant idea.
Originally, the plan was for Mom to pick me up at the airport. Then the plan was for me to take a bus from the airport to Salinas. The bus, of course, left the airport a short 30 minutes after my flight was scheduled to arrive. I had to check a bag, and my flight was late, and the luggage carrousel was moving extra-slowly. Probably especially for me. The bus leaves from a different location than I had expected. Therefore, it is no astonishing surprise that I missed the fucking bus. There next bus leaving for Salinas was scheduled for two hours later. Huzzah.
So I sat on a cold metal bench. In the cold. Exhausted. Crying. For two hours.
The bus came. There were only two other people, not including the driver. Both of the other passengers were sleeping. This let me drift in and out of tearfulness without fear of shame.
We arrived at the station in Salinas between one and two hours later. Expecting Mom to be there waiting. I had left her a teary voicemail explaining that I would be delayed. Instead I found the station, as still and quiet as any mortuary workshop around 3:00 AM. Yes, after 16 hours without respite, I found myself alone (except for a neon sign on my back reading, �MUG ME AND STEAL MY THINGS, PLEASE�).
So I try Mom�s cell phone. Nothing. Sigh. Tear. Sniff.
A family friend pulls up. I hopped in as she hugged and welcomed me home. She explained to me that my Mom and step-father were waiting at the station for my intended bus, which arrived sans moi. After checking her voicemail, she informed my step-father of the delay. He did not want to wait for me. She did not want to drive him home to drop him off, and then come back. So she gave up on me, and called Auntie Marilyn instead.
I slept at my Grandmother�s house last night. She and my uncle both gave me money, and sent me on my way this morning when my Mom came to pick me up. She then ran my stepfather�s errands, and we went home.
Where I proceeded to polish of several Bartles & James. Six, I believe.
Things have really changed a lot. My Mom drinks more heavily, and has started smoking (albeit lightly).
The house seems cleaner, but my Mom still has her hardcore thing about scented candles and room fresheners, but she doesn�t understand that YOU CAN�T MIX SCENTS! It makes me nauseous.
It seems as though all our cats have died, but that we�ve acquired a new one. Franklin. He�s cute, and he walks with a limp. If the SPCA ever finds out, they�ll be cat-adopting once again. The dog is still there, dumb and smelly and intrusive as ever. The horse (30 years old, mind you), is still hanging on. I suppose they got a notice from Animal Services or something saying that they were suspect, on a count of the house being so thin. My step-father called and explained that, ah, yes, it�s just that the horse is older than the Animal Services Agent who left the note on our door (private property, no less).
We have a new fence.
And we have mice, it would seem. If the mouse traps in each room are any indication, we have mice.
I�m writing this in my old room. I�ve been looking at all the things I�ve left on the walls, barely remembering. It reminds me of what a dork I was in Middle and High Schools.
I�ve been looking at my Senior yearbook which I left down here for some reason. I miss a few people, but it�s just a reminder for me that I didn�t fit in and was miserable for the most part. Four years of my life. I�m doing much better now. I think I am.
I hope I am.
I can barely believe all of this, here in my room. It�s so bizarre. I don�t know what to do with this. I really don�t.
I�ve decided that I don�t want to come back for Christmas. If I stay with my Grandmother, then Mom will be upset, and if I stay here at home, I�ll go mad.
I should have listened to Dr. Psychiatrist and never come back at all.
I guess we�ll have lunch with the recently re-single Tracey and her mom, and I�m pretty much done here. I think I have more or less seen who I need to see, (except Abigail, who isn�t here now). I think I may have needed the reminder as to why I left.
I�m pretty much taken care of.
Smile:
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Oh, Whoops. - 10:34 PM , 02 September 2005 In Like Hula-Hoops. - 11:28 PM , 12 April 2005 A - Z - 4:37 AM , 26 March 2005 w00t - 12:15 AM , 25 March 2005 Just Let Her Go. - 12:12 AM , 20 March 2005
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