(no subject)
this thanksgiving was pretending disasters. divorce or death, or perhaps just estrangement. my dad, my brother and i cooked enough food for fourteen, and fed it to my dotty grandma. we accidentally made the turkey perfect, somehow. maybe it was because there was no bustle, no glow, no martha stuart aunts, just strict schedules, lists, preparations to keep the inevitable failure of our inexperience at bay. we almost went molecular with my dads roasted cashew and green onion infused acorn squash, and i was finally able to convince him of the wonders of cranberry sauce.
now, the rats in my parents' ceiling are fighting. they squeak just like toys. i think they are biting each others' rubber abdomens, their plastic tails tangling. jesus christ, it's horrifying because they're actually real, and there are many of them up there.
now, the rats in my parents' ceiling are fighting. they squeak just like toys. i think they are biting each others' rubber abdomens, their plastic tails tangling. jesus christ, it's horrifying because they're actually real, and there are many of them up there.