:: 2005 27 September :: 5.42 pm
:: Mood: mixed bag
:: Music: Ben Lee, We’re All in this Together
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i am a vertical writer. i am a circular thinker. sometimes i am not around. i am always looking for a chance to write on a brown screen. i am taking five thousand credits. tonight, mr. ong grabbed henry, held him upside down in a fatherly tickling vise, and said happily, “way to go, curve-buster.”
i am all over the place. some selections:
july 23rd, 2005: first day on the island.
raven is upstairs in my bed, curled up against the wall by my quilt, exhausted from the terrible trials that are involved in selecting an appropariate outfit for the annual “pimps and ho’s” party. this year it is at cait’s house – raven does not really think she wants to go, because everyone (her housemates from last summer) are being standoffish and giving eachother “looks” in raven’s presence. she also cannot decide between the gold bustier, the pink push-up bra, or the matching latex biker costume with easy-access overall hooks on the underwear. all things considered, the preparation may not be worth it – but raven’s mom dorian was nice enough to remember us, and left an appropariately sized bottle of jose cuervo on our kitchen table, which we immediately proceeded to add to our “margaritas in a bucket” container and schlep into the freezer. the house is good sized; three bedrooms upstairs and a bathroom painted green and lavender with lots of dr. bronner’s in stock. the kitchen has a big window that shines through onto the breakfast counter in the mornings, and ample counter space – althought, the cupboards are absolutely stuffed with disorganized china and containers of oat bran.
august 7th, 2005
the coffee shop is not open yet – flora (landlord’s daughter) spent the night in her bedroom last night and went off to work early; i woke up for a babysitting job that is, in fact, tomorrow, so when i found myself wandering aimlessly on main street, i poked my head into annabelle’s and found flora and her friend brewing some coffee. they made me a free iced chai and let me set my computer up in one of the booths. i have four dollars in change that i stole, ironically, from the landlord herself, and i plan to tip big.
raven didn’t come home last night – i got back from a babysitting job a little after midnight and the house was dark except for a glowing blue television. i curled up on the sofa with underwear, quilt, and spaghetti-o’s, just like any self-respecting teenager would, and watched mildly funny friends reruns. an hour later, raven’s mom came home, laughing and dancing and giving off the standard marijuana exhaust cloud. she flopped down onto the couch and began to giggle wildly whenever david schwimmer had a line. i grumbled and dragged my quilt up the stairs to my room, lay down and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars. this room belongs to a thirteen year old boy named keith drury for most of the year – we’re renting the house because his family summers on greens’ island, where the aging hippies all have their own expansive yurt complexes and self sustaining soy patches.
he walked into the house unexpectedly to grab a sweatshirt and i threw myself onto the kitchen counter to hide the giant pile of beer caps and half-empties left over from mexican night. i did not attend mexican night (though it took place in my house) because i was babysitting until 2 AM then everyone in my house was too plastered to even maneuver the minivan keys into the ignition, much less drive across the island. i finally got home at four and found the beer bottle scatter and lots of tiny ash heaps all over our dishwear to boot. stupid, stupid people.
anyways, i have taken a moral stand and refused to clean this up because i was not a participant in taco making, taco eating, corona guzzling, or THC inhallation – raven has taken a stand against cleaning it up because she is a lazy son of a bitch.
they are playing norah jones and i feel like a cliché.
end
it will get better.
& 
