(no subject)
Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 - Your first love
Day 03 - Your parents
Day 04 - What you ate today
Day 05 - Your definition of love
Day 06 - Your day
Day 07 - Your best friend
Day 08 - A moment
Day 09 - Your beliefs
Day 10 - What you wore today
Day 11 - Your siblings
Day 12 - What’s in your bag
Day 13 - This week
Day 14 - What you wore today
Day 15 - Your dreams
Day 16 - Your first kiss
Day 17 - Your favorite memory
Day 18 - Your favorite birthday
Day 19 - Something you regret
Day 20 - This month
Day 21 - Another moment
Day 22 - Something that upsets you
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry
Day 25 - A first
Day 26 - Your fears
Day 27 - Your favorite place
Day 28 - Something that you miss
Day 29 - Your aspirations
Day 30 - One last moment
Today we're here to discuss my parental gene pool, right class? Well, let me preface this by saying that I volunteered for six hours at a community fair today, and have to do the same tomorrow, and as such am extremely tired and blurry. (OH and unrelated note: I might make my journal friends-only for a bit, soon. College applications, oh college applications. I are paranoid.)
My father ranks below career criminal on the creepy list. He moved to New Mexico a year ago and now walks around the house in a singular banana hammock, while I just sit and try not to look at him ever. He has a habit of not letting conversations go, even when the stranger he cornered at the supermarket is backing away, pushing their cart towards him and glancing around. He simultaneously abused his children and had three (as far as I know) highly unsuccessful marriages at the same time as being a licensed Family and Marriage Therapist. He grew up in Woodstock, playing harmonica with musicians that went on to be iconic, and has a record collection to die for. He is convinced that he is part Native American and will not be talked out of it. Even by genuine Native Americans. I hated him for the first two thirds of my life, disdained him for the next bit, and now just tolerate him with amused affection. Very much so an alcoholic, very much so batshit crazy, very much so in need of high-intensity anger therapy sessions, and very much so my father. I actually kind of love him. (He has a very high chance of having another heart attack in the near future, and is having an operation soon. They say he'll likely have the attack on the operating table. I'm terrified, and I love that I can be terrified that I might lose him, now.)
My mother... Well. She was a child of the Hippy Era, and graduated high school two years after the Summer of Love, from a school in the dead center of L.A. She then lived in a shared house in the Sierra Nevada mountains with no electricity or running water for a few years, moved to New York City after that, had my older sister, moved Upstate, married my father, and then came me... And that's a whole other story. She used to sing whenever she got angry, in a really obnoxious and hysterical way that was WAY worse than the normal parental yelling that every other kid got. She is really chill, except when she turns my depression into a personal attack on her parenting skills. She charms everyone around me, and even charms me sometimes. Tibetan Buddhist, and responsible for showing me all the ideals and inspirations that I love in life. She has clothes bought from thrift stores in California forty years ago, and I have slowly adopted her fashion sense to the horror of my sisters. Passive-agressive and an amazing gardener, with a green thumb to challenge the Green Giant. Now married to a Frenchman named Jacques and I kind of constantly want to punch her in the face.
... jesus effing christ every entry for this meme is super-long and stupidly emotional. I am so sorry, f-list.
Day 02 - Your first love
Day 03 - Your parents
Day 04 - What you ate today
Day 05 - Your definition of love
Day 06 - Your day
Day 07 - Your best friend
Day 08 - A moment
Day 09 - Your beliefs
Day 10 - What you wore today
Day 11 - Your siblings
Day 12 - What’s in your bag
Day 13 - This week
Day 14 - What you wore today
Day 15 - Your dreams
Day 16 - Your first kiss
Day 17 - Your favorite memory
Day 18 - Your favorite birthday
Day 19 - Something you regret
Day 20 - This month
Day 21 - Another moment
Day 22 - Something that upsets you
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry
Day 25 - A first
Day 26 - Your fears
Day 27 - Your favorite place
Day 28 - Something that you miss
Day 29 - Your aspirations
Day 30 - One last moment
Today we're here to discuss my parental gene pool, right class? Well, let me preface this by saying that I volunteered for six hours at a community fair today, and have to do the same tomorrow, and as such am extremely tired and blurry. (OH and unrelated note: I might make my journal friends-only for a bit, soon. College applications, oh college applications. I are paranoid.)
My father ranks below career criminal on the creepy list. He moved to New Mexico a year ago and now walks around the house in a singular banana hammock, while I just sit and try not to look at him ever. He has a habit of not letting conversations go, even when the stranger he cornered at the supermarket is backing away, pushing their cart towards him and glancing around. He simultaneously abused his children and had three (as far as I know) highly unsuccessful marriages at the same time as being a licensed Family and Marriage Therapist. He grew up in Woodstock, playing harmonica with musicians that went on to be iconic, and has a record collection to die for. He is convinced that he is part Native American and will not be talked out of it. Even by genuine Native Americans. I hated him for the first two thirds of my life, disdained him for the next bit, and now just tolerate him with amused affection. Very much so an alcoholic, very much so batshit crazy, very much so in need of high-intensity anger therapy sessions, and very much so my father. I actually kind of love him. (He has a very high chance of having another heart attack in the near future, and is having an operation soon. They say he'll likely have the attack on the operating table. I'm terrified, and I love that I can be terrified that I might lose him, now.)
My mother... Well. She was a child of the Hippy Era, and graduated high school two years after the Summer of Love, from a school in the dead center of L.A. She then lived in a shared house in the Sierra Nevada mountains with no electricity or running water for a few years, moved to New York City after that, had my older sister, moved Upstate, married my father, and then came me... And that's a whole other story. She used to sing whenever she got angry, in a really obnoxious and hysterical way that was WAY worse than the normal parental yelling that every other kid got. She is really chill, except when she turns my depression into a personal attack on her parenting skills. She charms everyone around me, and even charms me sometimes. Tibetan Buddhist, and responsible for showing me all the ideals and inspirations that I love in life. She has clothes bought from thrift stores in California forty years ago, and I have slowly adopted her fashion sense to the horror of my sisters. Passive-agressive and an amazing gardener, with a green thumb to challenge the Green Giant. Now married to a Frenchman named Jacques and I kind of constantly want to punch her in the face.
... jesus effing christ every entry for this meme is super-long and stupidly emotional. I am so sorry, f-list.