July 8th, 2009

Rainbow || Rainbow northern lights.

[. Hope .]

Some things give me hope.

Like my father coming down at 1 a.m. with his laptop, yawning and grumbling, and setting up a computer game.

Like my father's response when I ask, "Couldn't sleep?" Just a mumble and, "Well, I could..." because clearly he wants to be awake doing something else.

Like my father opening up a game that looks like a bunch of microbes wiggling around on a screen. And my remarking, "Wow, looks like the stuff I did in university" and his responding, "It probably isn't too different!" But it's remarkably cute.

Like eating melted ice cream at 2 a.m. and thinking, "Whirled Peace. Cool. I be more people would be into World Peace if it came with ice cream," which doesn't make sense, but somehow manages to when it's late and the world feels quiet but time feels right.

Like speaking with a woman from my church who is a teacher at my old junior high. Talking about how it's unusual, but student/teacher relationships can get close and under skin, and so few people understand--only the people who have seen it happen.

So, tonight I have hope. Tomorrow I may be frustrated. Tomorrow I may be Mad, like a hatter, like a catty feline hatter, but tonight I have hope. Maybe tomorrow night I'll have hope too.
  • Current Mood
    hopeful Hopeful.
Rainbow || Rainbow northern lights.

[. Showerrrrr Smoke .]

I am finally going to shower so I stop wanting to rip my head off and throw it out the window.

My mother just laughed and pointed at the wood stove. "Er, I tried to burn a book." She tried to burn one of Grammie's old romance novels. That is hilarious! "It, urm, didn't burn." I told her you had to rip them up first.

Unk just lit the filter of his cig instead. He's been smoking since he was a teenager.

I, er, laughed. Really really hard. And said, "Smoking fail!" which I probably shouldn't do, but, well, I do.

And now I smell like smoke again. Throws a McTantrum. Fack this shite, my mates, I am going to freaking shower!


(Mum then mentioned making guacamole. So I squawked. And she said, "Yup! We'll make Kiwi some guac if she squawks for it!" My mother and I stood around squawking. Have I mentioned that not a single one of us is sane?)
  • Current Mood
    mischievous Mischievous.