Just don't you let go of my hand.
Driving down Martin Downs Blvd. yesterday, my granddad was in the passenger’s seat talking about his job and how lately everything just seems so tedious and everyone else in the world just exacerbates the whole situation. It’s not worth it. He asked me if I ever feel like that. Yeah, only everyday of my life.
Then his phone rang and I stopped at the red-light, which was probably the best idea I’d had all day. This is for everyone who’s ever met my grandfather, by the way, for anyone that’s ever seen or spoke to him…or maybe you haven’t met him but you’ve heard me talk about him. If you don’t know him nearly well enough, none of this will make sense to you so skip this. He looked so derisive and irritated staring into his cell phone. My left elbow rested on the window, reaching out and tapping the top of the car with middle finger, watching my grandfather out of the corner of my eye, he puts the phone back to his ear. My grandfather says to the person on the other end, he opens his mouth and he says:
“Who the hell made you King Feces of shit island?”
And this is where I tell myself to stop rubbing off on people.
He’s never been with me, alone, by himself for this extended period of time, without my grandmother around. Now it’s like…24 hour TV. It’s Becca-vision. All Becca, all the time. That can get a little strenuous if you can’t stay on your feet, and even if you can, your brain will more than likely begin to ache sometime before the end of the day. Don’t even attempt aspirin or anything, it won’t work, and I’m just warning you before hand.
Diagnostic Training is going fairly well. I lost my DSM. Probably left it in the office. Someone probably hid it on the top of the bookshelf. Danaan. Someone doesn’t want to hear what I have to say to him at seven in the ay em. Actually, I take that back; anything that comes out of my mouth at that hour can’t be all that vicious. I think I’m going to be working with a boy that has Asperger’s Syndrome. That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.
I’ve permanently moved my “spot” for lunch. If I feel the need, I’ll move further. I don’t relate to those people at all over there - I used to talk to Dan, but that was before I realized he was a scum sack - as far as I’m concerned, there’s no need to be around people who just aggravate you constantly. There’s an ever narrowing list of people I consider tolerable right now and I’m positive that this is working both ways because everything always does and there are others with my name and a check mark next to it on their “intolerable” inventory.
Friday night, myself, Athena, the girls and a few other people I’ve never met leave for a beach house right on the coast of I’m-not-sure-where-exactly-because-I-have-selective-hearing. I’ve seen pictures of the room I’m to be staying in for three days and…it’s beautiful, to say the least. There’s a balcony right in my bedroom. You could probably drop a rock and watch it fall directly into the Atlantic ocean. That’s how close it is to the shoreline. I’m so looking forward to this. Nighttime. Stars. Beach. Mm, waves.
Athena’s inviting some kid she’s trying to hook me up with. His name is
Howard.
My granddad and I went out to dinner for the past two nights, and for the past two nights our waiter’s name, at two different restaurants has been
Howard.
Checking out at Barnes and Noble the other day, the clerk’s nametag said
Howard.
Substitute today in fourth block who’s name was Mr.
Howard.
This is getting a little old.
This is driving me a little batty.
Just a few:
Random Bertness.
Uh.