21:07 - 2003-09-30
Another Trip, Lunch Arrangements, and Discoloration of the Folicles
Well we went to Austin AGAIN...NO, most people in Texas don't journey regularly to our capital, and no it's not the center for fun, but my dad felt like it was getting a little tense around the house so he took us on a road trip.
Cheryl went too, but I'll try not to get into that.
We ate out a lot, blew cash, went to this anime store, slept at a hotel, got to see Jordan, the works.
That mostly started Friday night, when my dad noticed I was kinda bummed. I usually don't light candles, or stare at them, and I usually kind of want something to do with people, but Friday night I just wished everyone would go out for a drive and leave me alone. ESPECIALLY Cheryl. She's nice, it's not her fault, but if there's someone constantly in my private space, my private home, my private life, it's Cheryl.
So I lit a bunch of candles and tried to get some solitude. It's not that I was just sick of everybody and that they'd all been getting in my way, but more or less that the only way I could completely ensure that no one would intrude on my comfort, that no one would say something vulgar, or assure me that they'd endured the same loathsome company in school (this seems to be Cheryl's favorite response to my unhappiness) was to be utterly alone.
Well, needless to say, I didn't succeed until I went to bed, and the next morning, I had recovered my sunny disposition.
So we went to Austin, to "get away from it all for a couple of days." However, like I said, Cheryl accompanied us.
This, I guess, didn't solve much for me. Our goal was to get away from it all, and to me, Cheryl represents something of "it all", so how do I get away if she tags along?
I didn't have a lot of confidence in the recuperating nature of this trip from the start, but I guess everything was going all right. There were the little things like sitting in the back seat for three hours, and not eating at spicy resturaunts and stuff. It was okay. Not thrilling, but okay. Then we got to drop by Jordan's I think I explained this already, somewhere back there). I may not have mentioned it, but last time we saw Jordan he seemed unhappy, or tired, or just overly serious for some reason. This time he was much jordany-er, which in turn made this two-hour portion of the stay a much more inviting lapse than the entire thing put together. Then we stayed in a hotel that night, Dad and my sister sharing a bed, and Cheryl and myself sharing another. I slept on the edge of the bed, to give Cheryl plenty of room, and got a lil' cold, but didn't mind so much because I hardly ever get cold and it was something different.
Woke up, read, set out once again, went an anime store (much to the dismay of the adults) and looked at super-dooper wall-scrolls, then we drove out to a rural lake and watched an old man fish. Cast, then watch, the bob goes down, he reels it in, nothing. A tricky one, huh, so he casts again, saying to himself, "If he wants it, he'll back." He waits, the fish returns, he jerks the reel, but the fish escapes. Patiently, he casts again, then waits once more, not long till the fish is back, one can see him under the surface of the clear water. The fisherman jerks the rod hard and the fish is hooked. A small bass, it was, but too small to keep. So the silence of nature was broken as he tossed it back into the water.
Then we headed home, and ate at Rudy's, a barbecue joint that is always connected to a Citgo or something. They use buttloads of pepper on everything, so I don't think I'll be too eager to go there again.
Special sauce nothing. Just add pepper. Bleh.
So now we're home again. Back to the old routine: Go to school, read, come home, sleep. I'm unsure of how much I've mentioned on this subject, but the only way I've found to put a damper on the despair and repulsion felt at school, is to read religiously anything that I can get my hands on.
So a while ago, I ventured into the student library looking for nothing in particular, and left with Something Wicked This Way Comes. That would be Bradbury, if you weren't aware. And I began reading it. Around the half-way point of the book, something started going on in my head that distorted the way I read the book somehow. I began to read the book wrong in a way I could not and still cannot explain. This feeling let up slightly, then hit stronger than before as I read the last chapter of the book. I had ruined the book with this attitude that I unconsciously was involved in. Whatever it was.
I felt terrible, and wished I could apologize to the book, for it was a wonderful book, but every time I thought about it, I just felt awful. To make matters worse, before this feeling had come over me, I had flung the book down a flight of stairs in a frustrated rage that was brought on by the appalling language in the locker room that I had just exitted. I greatly regretted this action the moment it had been executed, and still do mightily...The book was one of the very best I've ever read, and I feel sympathetically bound to this certain copy (the cover has a very singular design on it). So to pay it a bit of homage, I have painted (with exotic gel pen) an eye on the back of each finger in greens, blues, and reds. I guarantee you'll understand this design if you read the book.
So now I continue to recheck the book and skim over bits of it, now that I think I've concquered the uncalled for terrible feeling I had before. I still regret having it though, in the first place, and feel it only right to favor and cosset the book.
Then, just as I finsihed that book, I was assigned to read Great Expectations and was warned by the teacher (yes, seriously) that it was "a boring read," but that she figured we'd be able to get through most of it. Enough at least to answer the questionaire.
I didn't understand this at the time, and I still don't. And I'm half-done with the book. I find it lively and smart and funny, while very intriguing and dismally tragic at times.
Oh well, it was becoming apparent anyway that the average person IS very boring indeed, and I can understand a tedious thing not comprehending its opposite.
I also found a sunny, quiet, cool spot to sit at lunch (instead of my noisey, exhaust-filled previous lunching arena, which is what it was). I used to sit on the sidewalk in the shade out in front of the school because, you see, if you sit in the grass, you will soon be attacked savagely by the ants and other naughty insects that have lived in that grass since before the dawn of man. This is why it is a lunching arena. So you sit on the hard ground dodging the golf-carts that the security guards motor about in.
Well no more of that now, I've discovered a much friendlier alternative:
I now sit in the courtyard, on one of seven stone chairs, depending on which way the wind is blowing. This would make a problem getting food, but I gave up eating at school. you'll want to hear this story:
One day I was in class, having skipped lunch for some reason, and someone named Buck was passing out candy. No to get this right, you'll want to understand one or two things about Buck. I've known him since seventh grade (known in a general acquaintance sort of way, we never talk on the phone or anything, but I can sort of predict him, if prediction is a capabilty in the case of someone like Buck). And over all one can't help admitting the following three things: he's amusing, he's outgoing, and most teachers don't like him. But while Buck is talkative and social and at times a bit obnoxious, he always knows just where to draw the line between wit and going too far. And he goes pretty far -- but never TOO far. And that's probably why I can tolerate his company as aopposed to other immature people's, and why everybody in general likes him.
So Buck is offering candy to those who'd like it. I am hungry and say, "Okeedokee, I'll take some." But the instant this little square of chocolate has been mashed and chewed into a pulp and swallowed, I suddenly remember a very valuable piece of neglected information: Buck is a male high school student. Suddenly I wonder what could possibly be on this chocolate, what would possess someone like Buck to just randomly pass out chocolate, was he smirking or anything? What's in thie stuff? I don't know! I start wondering if I'm getting some high off this stuff, whatever it is? Do YOU know what that's like? That's great, I don't! So here I am thinking about how maybe I'm not concentrating right and how I'm obviously more dizzy than usually. Then I start to play little scenarios in my head: Well, I'll just ASK Buck if he put something in it. He gets that all the time, right? Right, so, say I go up and, in this state of mind say, "Buck, what did you do to that candy? I've got to know, this is really important!" This scenario involved a lot of shirt-grabbing and pleading, but if it was necissary, SO BE IT. The tension builds as I contemplate how I'll explain this to my grandchildren: Could I still say that I, their dear old grandma, had NEVER been under the influence of drugs in my life? Huh? COULD I? And would they believe it from the Queen of the Naive Candy-Eaters? No siree, I would think not. Well there goes my legacy. It was bad enough that I slipped last year and uttered the "f" word, but this...Oh gosh...So finally, the end of class draws near, and I have narrowed my choices down to "Get the truth from Buck" and/or "Induce vomitting immediately". I try the first one before the second, thankfully:
"Buck, did you do anything weird to that candy?" I ask nausiously.
"Huh? No, why? You feeling weird?" Buck answers.
"No, just paranoid," I answer accurately, for once.
"I just got 'em for lunch and didn't eat 'em all, I'm full. Naw, I wouldn't do anything like that."
And deep down, I think I really knew we wouldn't have. As strange as that hour had been and as ready as I had been to grab BUck by the collar and shake him to the brink of concussion a few seconds earlier, I was pretty touched. AND relieved. Let's not forget that.
But while this story had a happy ending, I'm well aware it could have been otherwise. And I have no interest in taking that chance a second time. I've seen people getting drunk because they thought nothing suspicious of their "water". I've seen it happen at school, and no, I'm not curious or daring about that.
So I've knocked aside the idea of eating at school. Pegged it in the nose. Decked it good, you bet I did. Besides, it tastes nasty anyway and I always forget my moneys.
So this makes my choice of eating out in the sun less complicated, while giving me something like safety from my peers.
However, eating in the coutyard also brings new and ridiculous adventures into other aspects of high-school life:
For instance, one day as I read, I notice that undeniable sound of someone throwing things out a window at you. Some upper-classmen were bored, and decided that my aggrivation was the solution to their problem. However, when throwing stuff didn't achieve the desired irritation effect, they sent a recon. scout out to get some valuable information. This is what then transpired:
I hear footsteps on the grass behind me, and a childish, annoying guy comes to face me. He, of course, inquires, "What are you doing?" in the friendliest of fashions.
I understand the basis of this question perfectly. After all, a lot of controversy surrounds ones actions when one has a book open in ones lap and one is looking at it. There's no telling what could be going on.
So I kindly answer, "Reading."
The next question is easy enough to guess. "Why?"
"Because I like it."
Well, ask your stupid question, get your stupid answer, right?
"I see," he replies, fidgetting with an enormously entertaining wad of paper that he incessantly drops in the course of his game of Catch with himself.
I was expecting the most irritating question of all, which is of course, "What are you reading?" but instead I got something even more absurd:
"Why are you reading all alone?"
"Why would you read with someone else?" I answer, with a laugh.
"So you can talk to them," he replies.
"That would be talking with other people," I say.
He considers this tender morsal, then moves on. It just gets better and better:
"Why aren't you in class?"
"It's my lunch hour."
"Oh."
A noble reply.
Well, then we both see a teacher's head opke menacingly out a window, and look down to see a pile of badly aimed projectiles lying in the bushes and grass. She sees my converstional partner, and obviously recognises him, for the next words she says are, "Cheeseball! Get back into this room right now."
Uh huh, that's right: Cheeseball. Not Josh, or Chris, or Fitsgerald or anything like that. Nooooo, this poor idiot is Cheeseball. Even the teacher knows it.
"Cheeseball" never bothered me again, but sadly, I kind of miss it. Though today a very entertaining Voice from Nowhere said to me, "Hey, you, you're uuuuugly," in the dumbest way a Mexican voice could say it. I broke out laughing right there. I didn't know where this voice was coming from because a lot of windows were open into classrooms, but, gosh, I had myself a laugh. Then the Voice said it had to give me something and that I had to "come here." And I probably would've complied, had I had any idea where "here" was. I told the Voice about this dilemma, but it got scared when I spoke and went away. Boohoo...
And then my Aunt redid my hair for me, so it looks are splendiferous. Much redder than it was. VERY red, though...not quite Jhonen red. My hair is too long and dark for that.
It took three hours to get it this nice though, so I'm not complaining. My Aunt is working in the salon now, so I don't hve to bend over backwards (literally) so she can wash my hair out in the tub or sink or something. No more "kitchen beautician" as she puts it. So that's kind of a relief, only NOW I don't get to see her pups as often. Julio, one of her dogs that was once ours, is a delight to see. I miss having a dog, so I love hanging out at my Aunt's house.
Right now though, I'm s'eepy. I'd love to stay up, but I know the repercussions could be devistating, so, flire' cjodah (that's good night) till next time.
