drowned
05.30.04 @ 1:11 a.m.
I'm really sleepy, so I'll try to make this brief.
Puppies are the cutest damn things I've ever seen in my life. I have some pictures of them, but I need to edit them, so tomorrow maybe. I'm proud to realize I can recognize each one of them by their faces. Mick Jagger is a bloody escape artist, though, which is very annoying to deal with. Roger Daltrey is cute and I want to keep him, Bob Dylan is completely mellow but a licky-dog--this morning when I was holding him he tried to ascend my chest and lick my face. Last night Iggy Pop was biting me (my hands will be covered with tiny subcutaneous bruises from all the biting with little sharp needle teeth) and crawled out of my lap while I was distracted and took a header off the couch.
Dad has a ton of stuff he wants me to do this weekend that frankly will not get done. I have too much to do on my own. Also, I'm horribly annoyed with my parents because, morons, they went and deleted their CD burning software on accident. It's so condescending to say, but I wish they would just wait one goddamn day and ASK ME before they go deleting things. Maybe, I dunno, TAKE A LOOK in a freaking folder before DELETING IT. Gaaah. I am no compensated for dealing with stupidity! I'll rationalize and tell myself that this is why I bought two Who 8x10s and a Quadrophenia poster tonight. The basic result of this is that last night I had two miserable, exhausted stress-dreams. One where I was being held at gunpoint in my own house and another where I was at a banquet where I kept misplacing my food and then my grandma showed up and made a drunken scene.
Today was bad news. I almost had to go to church with Mom to read a prayer in Italian for her (but I was silly enough to offer to go). That's not the bad. The bad, from light to heavy, is that we almost all forgot Grandma's birthday and had to rush out and buy a cake and had no presents for her AND... my dad seriously damaged his knee at a dog show today. Like, surgery bad. Except that he hasn't gone to a doctor yet. He's in constant, excruciating pain. (I keep catching him making faces and he had to stand through dinner because sitting was too painful.) I doubt he'll get much sleep tonight and keeps asking me to kill him. At one point he asked if I loved him enough to really, truly kill him if he were very serious and asked, which makes me want to be flippant and say "Who do you think you are, Nancy Spungen?" What the fuck kind of question is that for your daughter?
Too many horrible things happening to destroy his career all at once. It's very distressing. I had to help out a little in the barn and would have done more if I had been more aware of his comings and goings. God knows what he'll do with no one around. I suppose it's lucky that there are only two more weeks of school for me and Mom. I have to go off to work.
And the Teacher's Union is saying things like "Don't make any big purchases this summer, because we just might go on strike." So. The car that I cannot put off having any longer. Knee surgery. Source of stud-fee income dead.
We are so fucked. Why? Life is becoming some kind of deranged tragedy. I dare not even think of what might happen next.
I may have lied about being brief in this entry.
Tomorrow: Powell's City of Books. My Aunt and Uncle Prententious might come to visit, blegh. Will upload some Johnny Cash, Van Lear Rose and the new Aerosmith album into my computer and iPod. More photos of trophies for my dog show research paper.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
