"I believe that everybody comes from pain and a certain amount of dysfunction." (Mariel Hemmingway)
My brother drives the car to dinner, and my Dad sits up front with him. We eat americanized chinese food, and I leave the table to visit with the restaurant's large, preternaturally intelligent fish whose tank sits in the front of the restaurant. The fish follows me back and forth as I walk in front of the tank, swimming up towards the surface, peering face-to-face at me, through me. The fish makes eye contact, and we stare at into other for a few minutes. He's beautiful.
My Dad and I walk out to the car, and my brother gets in and drives home. The night is clear and warm for November, it must be 60 degrees. No one speaks once we get home, instead we shuffle in from the night and each unconsciously go our own ways: I claim the new skiing magazine and go back to my bedroom to read, my brother retreats downstairs to play videogames, my father to the garage to smoke a bowl, and then passes out on the living room couch 30 minutes later. My mother hasn't yet come home.
I hit my first IV on my first stick today. The poor guy who stuck me tried both of my hands, and dug around for probably about 10 minutes and didn't get it though. I felt bad for him until he made a big deal about someone else missing once on him.
I wish I could just go skiing tomorrow, and be alone out in the woods and have time to think.
Maybe I'll just drive out to the foothills off of the 470 and go for a long hike. It would be nice to get up early and get lost someplace new. Maybe I'll bring some food and my book and make a day of it. That sounds so nice.
Maybe I'll go up to the hot sulfur springs off I70.
My Dad and I walk out to the car, and my brother gets in and drives home. The night is clear and warm for November, it must be 60 degrees. No one speaks once we get home, instead we shuffle in from the night and each unconsciously go our own ways: I claim the new skiing magazine and go back to my bedroom to read, my brother retreats downstairs to play videogames, my father to the garage to smoke a bowl, and then passes out on the living room couch 30 minutes later. My mother hasn't yet come home.
I hit my first IV on my first stick today. The poor guy who stuck me tried both of my hands, and dug around for probably about 10 minutes and didn't get it though. I felt bad for him until he made a big deal about someone else missing once on him.
I wish I could just go skiing tomorrow, and be alone out in the woods and have time to think.
Maybe I'll just drive out to the foothills off of the 470 and go for a long hike. It would be nice to get up early and get lost someplace new. Maybe I'll bring some food and my book and make a day of it. That sounds so nice.
Maybe I'll go up to the hot sulfur springs off I70.
I think I need to take a day trip from reality.
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