Thursday, June 24, 2004

'It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience.
My alarm clock blared out at 8:30 AM with the force of a super typhoon, knocking me clear onto the floor. I need a better clock, this one brings down skyscrapers with it's sheer volume just to wake me up.

I got up to bitching, no one likes my haircut- that's great, because the basic jist of this is that I don't require a haircut at this juncture. I'm letting it grow out, deal with it. My mom was wandering around like a zombie, making breakfast I didn't want. I ate it out of courtesy to the person.

I was tired. I stayed up till 3 or so the previous night for no reason. I had various things going on, important discussions about things that are black and mysterious, ohhhhh.

So I popped into class, giving Mr. Calvert a good ol' "How's it hanging", and plopped into my seat. Shock upon shock, the laws test was that day- it would have been more amusing had I been aware of this ominous test. Mr. Calvert gave us time to study for 30 minutes- study what? All the laws and rules are scattered throughout the book. It's like looking for a specifically shaped piece of sand on the beach- improbable, impossible and a waste of my time.

But, before that, Mr. Calvert made a great crack about my hair. I take a shower every morning and my hair ends up kinda fucked up looking. Fluffy sometimes, sometimes just kinda jagged. "Bad hair day, Kenneth?" he said, with a grin. Insert most of the class shifting to stare at my hair here. All I managed to say was "maybe".

I quickly jammed into the book for studying, but ugh. That book was an insult to my intelligence. It talked about how, if a train is currently crossing the road, you should probably stop at the BRIGHT FLASHING BARRIER to avoid careening into the barrier. Oh yeah, and that huge hunk of steel travelling at 90 mph behind it.

Oh well. It's the law, what can I do? I did my best. I am kinda stressed about it, I hope I did well. I think I did. I was one of the first to finish, the other person that finished was this cute little girl who seems kind of gothic. She took out notebook paper and to my surprise in a few moments had drawn a very artistic anime guy. She took out color pencils and colored them in. I tried to work up the nerve to compliment her on them/say hello, but I couldn't. Eh.

The class ended pretty uneventfully. I can get my learner's as long as I passed that test. I think I did. Mr. Calvert said to the chick I was too shy to talk to that she missed 14 and that that was "good".

A heavy sense of confidence drooped onto my mind, and has been resting there for some time now.

We went to Taco Cabana, woohoo. I had their new CHICKEN FLAUTA PLATE- NO WAY. It was pretty good, but I don't really like going out to fast food places. Heh.

When we got home I was assaulted with a crude odor. I was the last to be informed that my mother had used the clean feature on the self cleaning oven. The smell was horrid. I have a particularly keen sense of smell, so I was using my shirt as a mask and shit. I looked kinda like a terrorist you'd see on Al-Jeezera like that.

I opened the backdoor and prayed that some sort of divine wind would wash through the house. That didn't happen, but I wish it had of.

But I had a goal this afternoon. The goal to acquire a video game named "City of Heroes". I was also obligated to find some way to get my comrade one, he and I play games together alot. So I essentially needed 100 dollars. I couldn't very well make that in a day, so I resigned to make 30 to add to my meager bank fund that had 15 dollars in it.

My mother said that I could sand the front door. The front door is a massive wonder to behold. It is at least 7'2, since it is a foot taller than I am. It is quite wide too- you could slam that thing and take out airplanes from the wind gust.

The problem was, I live in Texas. In summer it just so happens that the sun likes to move back on up north of the equator to 'bless' us with some rays.

It was hot as hell. I wasn't directly in the sun, but I was baking on the tile leading to the front door- great. Crispy Ken.

I was working for 15 dollars an hour. I either had to sand the whole door down, or rip all the old pain off of our gate. I went towards the gate and there was like a mob of wasps just sitting there, daring me to make a move towards it. I got some spray and sprayed them, but that just sorta pissed them off- lol. I darted back inside and let them cool off for a bit [10 minutes] before heading outside.

I decided it was in my best interest to work on the door. It was a long process, but fairly simple- pretty tiring on your muscles. That combined with my previously-mentioned bedtime caused it to be horrendous to work. Whenever you work to that point, it always feels like to me you are bleeding your energy out of your hands. You can feel it seeping out of your fingers into what you are working on, untill there is nothing left.

Ugh, but something happened. While I was sanding at a fast pace the paper slipped and my hand slid across the edge of the brick. It cut a shallow line into my hand. The old varnish got into it and it was painful, hard to concentrate with blood dripping onto the bricks. Eventually, nature took it's course and clogged it right up.

Two hours and that later, I had done it. I came inside to the second assaulting odor of the day- my mom had ripped all the old varnish off the kitchen table. A fresh coat was on and it let off a stench that was all consuming if you walked too close to it. It least it wasn't all over the house, like the oven's scent- which was still lingering at the time.

But, I didn't care. I went to collect on my promised 30 dollars. I walked into the living room to find my mom sitting next to the Hoover, which was taken apart a bit. She was trying a new belt- again. She has had trouble with the Hoover vacuum cleaner decimating any belt we put into it. I would know, I have to put the belt in each time. This time she was *sure* she had the right belt, and *knew* it would work.

I put it on for her and the thing snapped like a cheap pencil. She got kinda bitchy and got the conclusion that it must be *my* fault. I must be the one who is at fault, I must be putting it in wrong.

She is an annoying brat when she gets to that point. If anything goes wrong and I'm within 5 feet from it I'm either- A.) At fault. B.) Doing it on purpose. C.) Doing it on purpose and seeking to piss her off by doing so. Half the time I don't even get the information as to what broke before I'm being blamed for it. o.O;

Well, whatever. I sat down next to my dad with my trembling hands [they were sore from the sanding] and watched my mom. She fiddled with it for 20 minutes or so, spurting out shit every now and then about how she wished that my dad or I would help. My help was out. I clearly explained to her that, since my way was the erroneous one, I had to learn the correct way to put the belt on- it was all up to her.

Finally, she glanced up and caught me grinning this amused grin at her. To be honest, it was delightful- seeing her frustration as it slowly dawned on her that there is only *1* way to put the belt on. She lept up and tantrumed around the living room a bit, dropping the bomb shell that she wouldn't take me anywhere till the vacuum was fixed.

Well, I waited for the baby to leave so I could work in peace. I had the belt on in a few seconds and was screwing the Hoover back together, when my dad said to go get her to test it. I went in to see the hard working woman who could use the help of two hardworking men laying on the bed doing nothing important.

I drug her in and she flipped it on. The belt was eaten [of course, I could have told her that would happen] and somehow my mom managed not to blame me. Instead, she drug my grandmother's old kirby vacuum out of the nearest abandoned mine or where ever it was. That one didn't work either- Detective Mom thought the belt was MIA in it too, so she assigned me and my dad to going to get it fixed. I was dismayed because earlier my dad and I had exchanged a few choice words on my attitude regarding.. everything. Sarcasm, arrogance, etc.

I pleaded with my mom that I would lift the [heavy piece of shit] kirby if she would drive me instead of my dad, but she refused. So I had to convince my tranq'ed up father that it was an escapade worth getting off the couch for.

Finally he agreed and I picked up the kirby. He stopped by his room to tell my mom where we were going, and a thing happened that I have not heard in a year and a half. The sound of two people yelling through locked doors and walls.

I felt a strange wave of chemicals wash into my brain as the pain from remembering all those years of arguing settled on my already-bloodied emotional state. It took a few moments for my annoyed, semi-depressed state to get much worse..

I lugged the POS kirby to the truck, with no help from my dad, and dropped it in the back. Off we went to the Wizard of Kirby.

The dude there found th-.. a problem immediately, as soon as he took it apart a slight bit. Heavy blockage due to things being vacuumed that you shouldn't vacuum- you know the drill, paper, pennies, coinage in general, etc.

So I lugged it into the truck, and then back into the house. We set it down for the Queen to test and it didn't work. She snorted and said, "We'll, instead of that waste of time you should have tried getting it fixed."

So I lugged it back to the truck and we drove there. Lugged it into the shop. Behold! More blockage. This time, it was carpet fuzz. Tons and tons of it, huge chunks. Some of you might remember when I helped my parents renovate my grandmother's house. We put new carpet in and, with that Kirby vacuum, we cleaned it. All the new carpet fuzz snaked and clogged in it. Ugh, duh. Silly 'rents.

It was fix. We tested it. I lugged it back to the car [by this time my hands were shaking from muscle fatigue I think]. Lugged it inside, it worked! Tada, great, good, whatever. I was tired as hell, as you can imagine. I went and took a shower. I came back and supper was cooking.. but we didn't have a table to eat on. The new varnish on it, remember?

So we all stood up. It wasn't that annoying really- only their conversations were annoying. But enough about that. I was clear to go to the mall.

I hastily grabbed my CD player so I wouldn't have to tolerate anymore conversations from the dysfunctional duo. I got in the car, turned it on and jammed to.. pure silence. The batteries were dead.

Thankfully, the conversation was more light and normal than argumentative and angry. Still.. when we got to the mall, I bolted. Did my ritual and jetted to EB, to pick up my game. As I looked for it, this older looking black guy came up to me and joked about my shirt. We got to talking and he told me he needed 1.82 for gas. I couldn't let the guy down, for some reason. I bought my game and headed into the mall major to talk with him.

His story was that he was from Houston and was 45. His mother had died and left in her will a car and a house to him. Some people wanted the house really badly, but the guy didn't want to give it up because it was his mother's house. He was broke from having to pay April's taxes on the house, and needed some cash for gas- either he was too thickheaded to notice he was near empty, or he just couldn't buy gas.

I didn't really care if he was being honest or not. I didn't have 2 $1 bills, so I gave him a five. He was sorta ecstatic, he thanked me and said that I must be a christian or a blessing from God. He said that he'd see me in heaven and shit. Either a bad actor or a little too much in need of gas money.

He seemed a little too eager to tag along with me to the outside realms of Middle Ea-.. San Antonio. I told him, without lying, that I was actually en route to another store- he understood, we shook hands a few times and parted ways.

I've had six people tell me that was a bad idea, to give him money. That makes me feel all the better about it, *grins*. Doesn't matter if I was conned or not, it makes me all the better person if I was.

I went to FYE and got Soundgarden's greatest hits CD. I didn't see the black guy around anymore, but that's the second time in a row at the mall someone has asked me to spot them some money. I'm starting to wonder what will happen next time.

I dunno. It wasn't such a great day. I have things to reflect on. I love someone, they are long distance, they seem to be unreachable to me. They are beautiful in physicalities and mentalities, and I enjoy their company profusely- one of the few people I rant to. I ranted to her profusely today, heh. I just.. would like her to either be a friend for life or something else.

I dunno. Keeps on telling me something. All the gems are elsewhere, other places, different plains, different states. Everything says I should just drop everything and run to die in a place far away with my comrades.

I'm either super immature to people or super mature. There's no borderline. Either I'll grow out of it, or not. I doubt I will.

What to think anymore. It wasn't really a breakdown, just a severe stress on my mental and physical stamina. Today was more of a long, drawn out story. It had a beginning, an ending and several chapters in between in luscious, glorious locales ranging from front doors to malls.

Read an article that is interesting. US military air development happens in spurts. WW2 was a spurt. Now, with our main airplane debuting in 1970, it seems the rest of the world is catching up. You might want to read it if you are at all interested in world news. Here it is.

Welp. Catch you later, whoever the hell you are. Hasta luego.


Overheard your conversation. Tonight I'm not satisfied.
Sitting here I realize that I always think I'm right.
So it's over for all of you.
My scenery is lakes and trees
I just can't keep all concrete.
I've fallen for this metal and I love this handle
So it's over for all of you
Two round holes cut into this fabric.
And I will slide it over my head.
I'll chase you for all hours.
I never see you make the effort to chase me.
Now your final place is this lake.
Stare at me now on your way down.

Comments (4)