Sawyer
The new schedule is to wake up at 5:30 in the AM to play with the puppy. The pup is named "Sawyer" now in homage to LOST and Mark Twain. Staying in this house for more than ten days is impossible. i need a damn job. If this was the real south, it would be some romantic comedy film where I'd be incapable of doing anything in the country after living in the city. In reality, this is a suburb of shopping malls with an ocean attached and I am just not capable in general. Being around my father always makes me feel awkward and all "look at me Dad, look at how smart/cool/something/anything please loook at me I ammmmmmmm". It works out really well. He watches TV, the dog growls at him. My mother tries not to become hysterical and I miss my own kitchen.
All I want to do is get it right and misbehave at exactly the same time.
I miss New York.. of course I would miss New York. I can't even think of Portland in a real way because I am in Clearwater which instantly makes me want to move to Europe. Not even just visit but straight up move. I pick up the phone and call anyone in Italian. I answer "Pronto?" and then fumble and speak half Spanish. I try and make a friend that speaks French but no one does.
On top of all of this, the oil spill makes me feel sick to my stomach. My mother watches it on the news and I do arm lifts and bends with the weights and throw things to the dog and everyone tries to learn the difference between "catch" and "fetch".
The puppy killed a lizard in the backyard.
I have been doing a lot of writing.
I want it to rain. I desperately look at the sky.
I don't feel right in my bones.
Nothing seems like a good idea. Everything seems like purgatory!!!
All I want to do is get it right and misbehave at exactly the same time.
I miss New York.. of course I would miss New York. I can't even think of Portland in a real way because I am in Clearwater which instantly makes me want to move to Europe. Not even just visit but straight up move. I pick up the phone and call anyone in Italian. I answer "Pronto?" and then fumble and speak half Spanish. I try and make a friend that speaks French but no one does.
On top of all of this, the oil spill makes me feel sick to my stomach. My mother watches it on the news and I do arm lifts and bends with the weights and throw things to the dog and everyone tries to learn the difference between "catch" and "fetch".
The puppy killed a lizard in the backyard.
I have been doing a lot of writing.
I want it to rain. I desperately look at the sky.
I don't feel right in my bones.
Nothing seems like a good idea. Everything seems like purgatory!!!