normal size

i hate the smell of urine.
absolutely hate it.
my laundry room smells like piss...beach towels to soak up the mess in the back bathroom. They've been sitting there since saturday. No one wants to go to the store for laundry detergent. We used skin so soft hand soap instead. Now we need more towels.

the days are passing by. My sister wants to join the Red Cross. My dad wants to be like me. Says "You're Flexible." I say "just dont want to make any decisions."

There is a neon green plastic crocodile on my back porch, sitting still and pondering the ways of the weather. He was born of a chocolate egg someone bought for me on the bus ride into Kununurra. Now its winter in Chicago and he's not moving. We're not moving.

If i could make a living out of sharing a window with a train or bus, i would be delighted. Happy almost. An industrial sloth, five toes instead of three. Success and Riches. 'My Witness is the Empty Sky'

One big dumb smile.
have a nice one.

ive just discovered how easy it is to stalk people.
just - yea you assholes, i know, technology and shit, but i would like to think that the mystery of the world is still in tact.

they're like celebrities...people that you know, but because of some unspoken custom in prententious plastic america, cannot talk to...what am i talking about? i dont know, but you know what i mean. See. Humble and Mysterious. Can they exist on the same plane?
ive never been very articulate.
but there is a reason for everything...cough spit cough

my mom came to terms with the fact that my sister and i are "alchy daughters" this evening at dinner. After sharing a smoke with Meg outside the garage door we decided that fame would grace us with golden dust by the Guiness Book - how quickly a family of four can take down multiple bottles of wine. I think the same speed can be set for how quickly we end up in different rooms after all has been consumed.

O christ.

that's all. i need one myself.

O hi O

right. I just put this link on my AIM profile so I thought I should add a few more thoughts, you know, pretend I matter. And I’m sorry everyone, especially the younger ones. We must remember that I am now a “writer” so for the first time I am aloud to be fictitious.

I went to see The Life Aquatic with God, I mean Bill Murray, I mean Steve Zissou last night with my sister. I haven’t been to the crestwood Lowe’s in awhile, nor the mall so actually my break has been filled with uberly painful excitement. Anyway, I decided to go to film school in California. But I won’t say goodbye, I’ll say Bon Voyage.

Before that I was in Indiana for Christmas No. 2, visiting my mom’s side of the family, whom collectively, no one cares about. That’s not true, mom, they just move a little slower. You all know how that is…Indiana and all. We cut them off with witty punch lines in the middle of the story, laugh, they laugh, they continue. It takes patience to listen to a story you’ve heard before, especially when it’s not very good…at all. They live on a farm, white flat lined landscape, broken dark windows in the barns sitting just before the shadows of my Uncle’s hunting grounds. I can hear the deer breathing while their hind legs are being bound. Drug through the snow. But I don’t think about these things because this break has been checked off on the list of firsts. My family is emotional hell, selfish crazy and pretending to care. I just laugh now, I don’t know how to do anything else.
It’s hard though, when your dad’s side of the family hits the drinks hard, leaves the kids to my Aunt passed out in the chair and with red party cups in hand sways down the street on a sub-zero stroll. My dad became a bartender earlier in the year. He was showing me how to make a cosmo after I asked where the lid to the martini shaker was. The shot glass was small; he was dumping in vodka with the force of the Niagra, sticky Russian hairspray smell everywhere. He flipped the empty beer glass over and stuck it inside the metal shaker as he told me not to jam it in too tight. Three minutes later six people are standing around the sink running the glass under hot water. My dad has the clenched jaw thing going, which means he’s pissed but more embarrassed, when he comes into the kitchen. He holds up a brand new martini shaker with a strainer lid. Gram Lob gave it to him for his 53rd birthday thirty seconds ago.

this is funny if you’re a lobsinger.

That’s Lob (e) singer.

goodbye

I would think, after talking to people that aren’t really there for so many years, that I would start listening to what they have to say.
but I don’t.

there’s my daughter sitting there, across from me at our kitchen table. We’re having the conversation…about why she shouldn’t have sex. I watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High last night; I’m thinking about this as her eyes shift up and to the right, fixated on a spot just beyond my head. I stare at the corner of her eye, where she sees me, where the stage is set under her feet, and get up. I walk around the island in the kitchen open a drawer and now she’s curious. I return, look at her, and place a pair of metal tongs on the battlefield between us.

I say nothing.
Why? Because the scene is set in my own kitchen, the same lighting the same island. My best friend’s mom was there for me when I discovered that there was another hole. Mom managed to ask if I had any questions. I looked at her; my own mother sitting in the other room watching her American Dreams on DVD.

I’m not pregnant, but I imagine healing the womb child before it breaks free. It’s a problem that keeps reoccurring – motherhood.

And no one is ever going to get it quite right.

if you can understand that
there is hope for us yet.