(no subject)
Home for the holiday. My hands are raw from washing dishes. I have gotten a haircut today--just to make my hair neater, to let it grow out more evenly--and mulled around Barnes and Noble. My mother wants help cooking, but I am and always have been afraid of the kitchen, and reaching into a dead bird carcass with my bare hands just does not sound remotely appealing.
Mostly I am sitting around and wishing that I were back at college. Being home is nice, and being in the city is nicest of all (public transportation, oh how I missed thee), but dealing with my parents is like dealing with a potato that is either spontaneously burning, or ice cold and hard as a rock.
My parents were the reason the book "Don't Sweat The Small Stuff" was written.
The day after tomorrow is my brother's birthday. He will be seventeen. I've already thought of him as seventeen for months in my head. He's tall, has lost a lot of weight, and is really quite handsome. I really want to knit him a sweater in these upcoming months; the best part about my brother is that he will wear whatever I make him, as he too is an artist and understands the work that goes into something handmade. It's nice to have another artist in the family, someone who understands the value of hard work in your craft. My parents love what I make, but they don't understand what it is like to make, and thus cannot fully appreciate the gifts. Not that I don't love making gifts for them anyway.
I leave you with a small tidbit of lol:
Me: I hate cooking.
Me: So... you can do it.
Pablo: Well both do it
Me: I refuse to touch the meat
Me: If you want meat, you can make it
Me: I don't like touching things that were previously alive
Pablo: Fair enough. You can stick to touching my meat
Mostly I am sitting around and wishing that I were back at college. Being home is nice, and being in the city is nicest of all (public transportation, oh how I missed thee), but dealing with my parents is like dealing with a potato that is either spontaneously burning, or ice cold and hard as a rock.
My parents were the reason the book "Don't Sweat The Small Stuff" was written.
The day after tomorrow is my brother's birthday. He will be seventeen. I've already thought of him as seventeen for months in my head. He's tall, has lost a lot of weight, and is really quite handsome. I really want to knit him a sweater in these upcoming months; the best part about my brother is that he will wear whatever I make him, as he too is an artist and understands the work that goes into something handmade. It's nice to have another artist in the family, someone who understands the value of hard work in your craft. My parents love what I make, but they don't understand what it is like to make, and thus cannot fully appreciate the gifts. Not that I don't love making gifts for them anyway.
I leave you with a small tidbit of lol:
Me: I hate cooking.
Me: So... you can do it.
Pablo: Well both do it
Me: I refuse to touch the meat
Me: If you want meat, you can make it
Me: I don't like touching things that were previously alive
Pablo: Fair enough. You can stick to touching my meat