I want to write entries because I am a twentysomething and therefore (I assert the �therefore� � I scream it from the hills) am so hopelessly egocentric it hurts. I am a twentysomething and therefore (asserted from the mountains, the valleys) my life is one long stream of poetic (in)justice. It is. It�s true.
I want to write because, though I�ve been back in this house less than twenty-four hours, I�m already crawling out of my skin.
I�m waiting up for my father to come home � I don�t know if he will before I eventually fall asleep (in the arm chair? On the couch? Will I make it up to my own bed, not even bothering to take of my bra or belt or even turn the light off?) . He leaves town tomorrow for a weeklong Judge Advocacy conference. Chances are, I�ll head up to Charlottesville before or right as he returns. I am selfish this way. We are both in the habit of working hours neither of us can particularly maintain.
My mother cries because we don�t live at her house � she does not realize that it�s better that way: the absolutely suffocating ennui doesn�t live at her house if we do not. She does not, however, correctly understand the reasons her house is difficult. Her house is not simply difficult because of the divorce - it would be much easier if they would both give up on being certain we�re going to stop loving them. Her house is difficult because if she wants to be the kind of mom who goes to get mother-daughter pedicures, then she has to be the kind of mom who�s willing to talk about boys. I handpicked that story for her. Honestly, the story itself was made up of so many partialities that it had both poetic justice and narrative flow � the least she could have done was look interested.
I remember learning the word �doldrums� in the fourth grade while reading The Phantom Tollbooth. Whine, whine, etc, etc.
Home reminds me that I still know how to speak canine � not necessarily domestic canine, but canine nonetheless. Miss Scarlett � the dominant of the Wildlife Rescue�s two foxes � quickly remembers who is alpha. I wonder if people realize how much more difficult rottweilers are than foxes. Rottweilers have met humans before � they are under no illusions as to whether the average human is, by virtue of her height, loud voice, and commanding stare, dominant. She is not. Foxes are much more willing to follow the rules � to believe that humans know the rules, will exercise the necessary consequences, and can play the requisite games.
I (barely) prefer domestic cats, but wild dogs.
I watch VH1 marathons, start books and eclectic art projects I have every intention of finishing (but never will), and try on all of my old prom and homecoming dresses.
I do miss the animals when I�m at school.
I miss my family too � I miss this house. I don�t miss feeling suffocated, stagnant, and hopelessly alone. Coming home for break, all of break (except four days), was a poor choice.
It�s a little past midnight. I turn twenty-one in twenty days.