23:09 - 2003-10-24
The Eternal Struggle
Snippets from my real-life school diary:
"Maybe I need to go on a "Black Caldron" adventure or something. It didn't seem so bad till school started. Now it's like I'm eating myself and then saying, "Ew this tastes nasty" or something...Maybe it's all one big evil secret."
"Speekin uv helth thiss doods gaut a helthy fro."
"People are boring like the toys they had in the old days that were made of socks." (Obviously a Tk moment)
"Nobody laughs when I talk about Hangly Man."
"Today I was singing 'Little Bunny Made of Lead' and I looked over and there was Vestboy."
I guess it might be considered unlawful by someone who is really bored that I haven't explained anything. Vestboy is someone at my school who, as you may or may not have inferred, often wears a vest. It is undyingly interesting to me which vest he wears, though lately, I haven't seen him often, and he is for some reason wearing a sweater. Go figure. But go meet him? Naw, that's like meeting Cher. I'd rather comment to myself about her cool clothes.
Little Bunny Made of Lead goes something like this:
Little bunny made of lead
I will plant you in my head.
There's probably more, but I don't recall. It goes to the tune to Twinkle Twinkle.
Other than my miserable, disjointed school ramblings, there is the ever-raging conflict in my stomach. The alien is extremely picky about what I feed it, in fact, so much to the point that I wonder if maybe it eats at all. I am overwhelmed with nausia at every single notion of food or eating. Commercials cause me uncontrollable retching and in my life I never noticed how often human beings converse about food. It's really loathsome. And pickiness is a peeve of mine, so...I guess I try to discaplien the little bugger as much as I can.
Nevertheless, we ate at Chili's earlier, and that got me some protest, which I ignored (as usual), and then Cheryl brought us Starbucks, which I enjoyed as I watched "I Love The 80's".
Then a couple minutes before I came in here to write this, my "Tummy Buddy" obviously decided he'd had quite enough, and I reintroduced an entire vente Frappacino back into the world orally.
It was pretty bad, I had to change clothes. I'm sure you've heard worse projectile vomitting stories, but the difference is, I'm not bulimic.
Or a Jhonen Vasquez character.
Naughty little alien....
Then to make matters considerably worse:
My dad has already established his infatuation with Cheryl. Today he revealed his unconditional love also for her furnature.
As I may have stated: Cheryl is a woman and thinks our house is filthy and falling apart. This is a ludocrisly misplaced opinion, seeing as how we vacuum the house once every two months and how the rings in the tub are actually there to prevent slipping. I get the feeling that when someone is in your house often enough to criticize, it's time to get a grip on things, but that's not my place, I guess. My place is here in the closet with my intestinal pal.
And we like it here just fine in our dirty, old, ratty closet.
Okay, so anyway, we had this TV and it's older than I am. It could drive in some states. We used to leave it on because we didn't like waiting for it to clear up and that took ten minutes or so. And Cheryl figured we needed a new one, so she bought us a nice one. really nice new TV.
Or so you'd think. Because that was just the start. Now our furnature has to be replaced, apparently.
This is either because:
"It is old and has out-lived it's time" and I guess needs to be euthanized like the worthless elderly.
OR
She has too much of HER furnature in her apartment and needs somewhere to chunk some of it.
So she sends this TV as recon. Ever seen "Brave Little Toaster"? Where the new, snobby, modern appliances toss the old, good-hearted, loyal appliances out into the dumpster?
I DON'T WANT TO WANDER AROUND IN A JUNK YARD FOR SEVERAL HOURS TRYING TO FIND MY OLD FRIENDS!!
This furnature has been quite okay and good since I was born. It is not an eyesore, it works fine-and-dandy. I won't have it junked in favor of sinister, boxy nonsense from someone's apartment.
So I argued these essential points with my father, sternly, good-naturedly, as we ate and the alien complained.
He said it was ridiculous that I wanted to keep a bunch of old innanimate objects.
"Uh huh," I said. "Well, I'm not living in a hollow box that used to be my home. If you want to mutate our living quarters and through out that good, kindly chair, you can send me to the curb in it."
He again looked at me as though I was nuts, but I stand strong.
He just doesn't understand that me and the chair are in love. This chair has marks on it made by my feet as I rocked back and forth in childhood. To date I have a habit of swaying back-and-forth. No one is going to treat such a chair with such ingratitude.
Bet you wish YOU were my chair, huh? Yep.
So the battle wages on between keeping the chair and getting a new one that I will shun and hate.
I know that TV's motives and I don't trust nothing or nobody. I cannot be pursuaded by comfy-ness. It is all futile.
My sister's chair has also been very good to us, and it is no condition to be out in the world. It's infirmed you see. My sister worked that thing out, she rocked so hard there is a gaping hole under the cushion that leads to the floor. She used to thread half-inch dinosaur action figures through it. Wires protrude through the back of the poor thing (the chair, not my sister).
Would you send your grandpa out onto the street in this condition? Of course not!
Unless you first fitted him with a camera.
In the world today, there is nothing you do not have to fight for. Money, places in line, meat, torn up clothes( if you are a hobo) footage of howler monkeys, good reasons to fight, etc.
But I need to be going. I think the alien wants me to eat coins.
