therein lies introspective nonsense
It's almost dark but you can still see the murky remains of a sunset on the water and behind the mountains. Someone is shooting off fireworks. They're loud. Over-patriotic imbeciles, they've got the dogs barking. It's Gig Harbor, so that means a lot of dogs. They keep firing, then stopping, then firing more. It's a good thing I can type while facing backwards, because they're nice to look at. But still. Irresponsible wanks.
I'm typing in the kitchen for a very good reason. I think.
I had a dream last night that my friends and I were spies infiltrating a building. We were in a room that looked suspiciously like the parlor of my grandmother's old house. I miss that house. My grandpa died and they had a memorial service there and we let blue and white balloons go. I must have been six or seven. Maybe earlier, I think it was before my parents divorced. I ate a slice of beet, thinking it was an apple.
I have such vivid memories of that house. I watched E.T with chicken-pox there, socks on my hands to keep me from scratching. I let my pet rabbit loose behind the workshop, and on Easter my cousin claimed a gigantic rabbit attacked him during the egg hunt. I played NBA and Sonic on her Sega Genesis and never got past those goddamn ostrich jumps on Lion King. The clown paintings of Red Skelton hanging on the wall in the living room were somewhat terrifying. Upstairs in her closet were tons of necklaces with wooden beads painted like parrots. Downstairs in the closet was Rummikub, Boggle, Sorry, Scrabble, etc. I plunked out hideous concoctions on the grand piano and behind it she stored an antique spinning wheel. No needle to pluck. Wonderful Waffle Wednesdays with sticky pseudo-syrup. Rickety swingset and the playhouse that always had bees in, surrounded by pebbles. The greenhouse that we grew wheatgrass for my mom's juice bar in, and beans. Lots of beans all staked in a row.
One day I'm going to write a book just on my memories from that house. I think I have more from there than from all the places I've actually lived.
She sold the house a few years back and moved near Dad in Gig Harbor. Now the owners are re-selling it for something to the tune of $800,000. And we were infiltrating it. Like spies.
Maybe Band of Brothers is getting to me...
Then we infiltrated the senior breakfast and Whitney and I both totally scored because the lunchladies love us. I don't remember who else was there, but I think there were more of us. Victory really does taste pretty good.
And I met Michael Kasparis. I adore that guy. But who thought it would be a good idea to let him run rampant through my dreamscape? Could cause some damage, that. He was fantastic.
The night before last, I had a dream about a friend of mine. It seemed so real... I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something. It'd better shut up, because it's barking up the wrong tree. Just... no.
The fireworks are over.
I'm typing in the kitchen for a very good reason. I think.
I had a dream last night that my friends and I were spies infiltrating a building. We were in a room that looked suspiciously like the parlor of my grandmother's old house. I miss that house. My grandpa died and they had a memorial service there and we let blue and white balloons go. I must have been six or seven. Maybe earlier, I think it was before my parents divorced. I ate a slice of beet, thinking it was an apple.
I have such vivid memories of that house. I watched E.T with chicken-pox there, socks on my hands to keep me from scratching. I let my pet rabbit loose behind the workshop, and on Easter my cousin claimed a gigantic rabbit attacked him during the egg hunt. I played NBA and Sonic on her Sega Genesis and never got past those goddamn ostrich jumps on Lion King. The clown paintings of Red Skelton hanging on the wall in the living room were somewhat terrifying. Upstairs in her closet were tons of necklaces with wooden beads painted like parrots. Downstairs in the closet was Rummikub, Boggle, Sorry, Scrabble, etc. I plunked out hideous concoctions on the grand piano and behind it she stored an antique spinning wheel. No needle to pluck. Wonderful Waffle Wednesdays with sticky pseudo-syrup. Rickety swingset and the playhouse that always had bees in, surrounded by pebbles. The greenhouse that we grew wheatgrass for my mom's juice bar in, and beans. Lots of beans all staked in a row.
One day I'm going to write a book just on my memories from that house. I think I have more from there than from all the places I've actually lived.
She sold the house a few years back and moved near Dad in Gig Harbor. Now the owners are re-selling it for something to the tune of $800,000. And we were infiltrating it. Like spies.
Maybe Band of Brothers is getting to me...
Then we infiltrated the senior breakfast and Whitney and I both totally scored because the lunchladies love us. I don't remember who else was there, but I think there were more of us. Victory really does taste pretty good.
And I met Michael Kasparis. I adore that guy. But who thought it would be a good idea to let him run rampant through my dreamscape? Could cause some damage, that. He was fantastic.
The night before last, I had a dream about a friend of mine. It seemed so real... I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something. It'd better shut up, because it's barking up the wrong tree. Just... no.
The fireworks are over.