(no subject)
i'm in my old room, in what is now an office/storage space. the door is closed, as it so rarely was when i lived here. i closed it so that i could wrap my parents' presents without them stealing a glance, but now i'm getting distracted by the change in setting. it's not as though i don't visit The House I Grew Up In, shit. i swap cars with my parents and check on my brother and needless to say, i'm here often enough. but this premeditated stay for the night is tripping me the fuck out.
the only time at which you have a home is when you have yet to return to it? i guess this is my return? i dont know. all i know is all the ginger ale in the world couldn't settle my stomach right now. maybe it's the burger i had at nation's for our christmas eve dinner, maybe it's my perpetually bizarre love/sex life, maybe it's the overwhelming feeling of disappointment i feel at myself for my lack of preparation this year. im the meursault of holidays' present {pardon the annoyingly homonymic ending to an already melodramatic statement}.
my mom is wrapping presents to dr. dre's the chronic 2001 as my brother bakes three different desserts in the kitchen. my father was instructed not to "irritate {my mom}," so he's in the living room, reading a book on their most recent impulse purchase, a wine-spill-red leather couch. im attempted to bang out these last few presents so i can walk The House I Grew Up In's neighborhood, checking out those paper bag lights that are put up fucking everywhere. because i need something to do while i smoke and take movie-scene-bad swigs from my brand-new flask and attempt to clear my fucking head.
great. ackrite just ended and so dr dre's reign on the sounddock has come to a close. the next artist? the isley brothers. at least my soundtrack is in okay health. thanks mom.
the only time at which you have a home is when you have yet to return to it? i guess this is my return? i dont know. all i know is all the ginger ale in the world couldn't settle my stomach right now. maybe it's the burger i had at nation's for our christmas eve dinner, maybe it's my perpetually bizarre love/sex life, maybe it's the overwhelming feeling of disappointment i feel at myself for my lack of preparation this year. im the meursault of holidays' present {pardon the annoyingly homonymic ending to an already melodramatic statement}.
my mom is wrapping presents to dr. dre's the chronic 2001 as my brother bakes three different desserts in the kitchen. my father was instructed not to "irritate {my mom}," so he's in the living room, reading a book on their most recent impulse purchase, a wine-spill-red leather couch. im attempted to bang out these last few presents so i can walk The House I Grew Up In's neighborhood, checking out those paper bag lights that are put up fucking everywhere. because i need something to do while i smoke and take movie-scene-bad swigs from my brand-new flask and attempt to clear my fucking head.
great. ackrite just ended and so dr dre's reign on the sounddock has come to a close. the next artist? the isley brothers. at least my soundtrack is in okay health. thanks mom.