(no subject)
I tried to write in this journal a few weeks ago. I had been watching the American Idol auditions. My mom came downstairs and told me that she wished Dad could die, because she was ready and he was ready. Later that night I tried to write that Mom wished Dad could die, but I couldn't get it to sound right. That will never sound right.
An acupuncturist puts pins in his ear twice a week, and his friend from St. Louis sends him long-distance energy from 7:00-7:30 every Tuesday and Thursday. Dad is supposed to think of sunlight moving through the limbs that hurt all the time. The problem with writing these things down is that I don't want to remember them. No matter what happens the night before, we have coffee and toast in the morning. He smiles in the morning. Forgetting has helped me get through this, but somehow, I can't just write about the coffee and the toast.
From last time I wrote until today, I turned 24. I sent in two graduate school applications, spent every other day on the elliptical machine, and cut my bangs. I was getting tired of being 23, which seemed more about pretending to know everything rather than really knowing anything. After all, that's how I got hired. 23-year-olds, the joke is on you -- it's just a matter of being in on it. For further proof, watch Up in the Air, and just try not to wish you were more like Vera Farmiga and less like that twit who plays the 23-year-old. I dare you.
For my 24th birthday, I ordered a special cake. My friend Katie told me a story about her dad eating a stick of butter under a porch like a candy bar, and it was kind of like that. There was apricot spread between the layers (four layers), and it had wildflowers made with blueberries and slivered almonds. My brother said "Shut up" between each bite. I'm telling you, it was a special cake.
When I'm on the elliptical at the gym I pretend I'm not watching The Bachelor out of the corner of my eye with the woman who is watching The Bachelor on the treadmill, but I really am. It seems to give my 30-minute suffering on "Fat Burner" some funny perspective. I always feel better. It's like I don't remember I have a body until it's covered in sweat. One afternoon I came home, my triceps obliterated, and wrote "God, I look good." I didn't publish that either, but it's something I haven't wanted to forget.
An acupuncturist puts pins in his ear twice a week, and his friend from St. Louis sends him long-distance energy from 7:00-7:30 every Tuesday and Thursday. Dad is supposed to think of sunlight moving through the limbs that hurt all the time. The problem with writing these things down is that I don't want to remember them. No matter what happens the night before, we have coffee and toast in the morning. He smiles in the morning. Forgetting has helped me get through this, but somehow, I can't just write about the coffee and the toast.
From last time I wrote until today, I turned 24. I sent in two graduate school applications, spent every other day on the elliptical machine, and cut my bangs. I was getting tired of being 23, which seemed more about pretending to know everything rather than really knowing anything. After all, that's how I got hired. 23-year-olds, the joke is on you -- it's just a matter of being in on it. For further proof, watch Up in the Air, and just try not to wish you were more like Vera Farmiga and less like that twit who plays the 23-year-old. I dare you.
For my 24th birthday, I ordered a special cake. My friend Katie told me a story about her dad eating a stick of butter under a porch like a candy bar, and it was kind of like that. There was apricot spread between the layers (four layers), and it had wildflowers made with blueberries and slivered almonds. My brother said "Shut up" between each bite. I'm telling you, it was a special cake.
When I'm on the elliptical at the gym I pretend I'm not watching The Bachelor out of the corner of my eye with the woman who is watching The Bachelor on the treadmill, but I really am. It seems to give my 30-minute suffering on "Fat Burner" some funny perspective. I always feel better. It's like I don't remember I have a body until it's covered in sweat. One afternoon I came home, my triceps obliterated, and wrote "God, I look good." I didn't publish that either, but it's something I haven't wanted to forget.