Get up, come on get down with the sickness.
Hey! How are you? Yeah, me too. It’ll pass. Friday, as promised, Chico returned home. He is very very shiny and new(-looking), except I guess they busted a tail light in the whole destroy-and-rebuild process, so I have to bring him back next week. I got two tires out of the deal, and they returned the old ones to me in my trunk. Which might have irritated some people, but not me: once I buy a rim, and I’ve got me a full-size spare. Considering how often I have to change flat tires, well, score! The second (damaged) old tire and the sexy red donut tire I plan to place in the middle of the intersection by my house and burn. I’ve been thinking it’s time for a little insurgency, and I’m willing to bet money on the fact the Richfield police have never had to subdue rioters in their urban hometown. So Friday night, I went to a movie and then to dinner at a place that was not even remotely Luce. One of those restaurant/sports bar type places, packed fulla drunk whiteboys. Eh, we survived. Saturday, my dad took my sister and I to a women’s hockey game at my alma mater. As far as sports go, my fandom ends at American Gladiators and the demolition derby, but I’ll attend any live sporting event just because they’re awesome. Funny-looking people yelling like idiots, furries (I hear they’re called mascots), whacking my sister with my free hockey stick, the zamboni, a pretzel… what’s not to like? Also, accompanying my father on an activity he loves (U of M hockey, flying an airplane, going to Home Depot, mowing the lawn) makes him the happiest dad in the world. It’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. I got home last night feeling particularly down. Homie called aroung 9:30 to tell me we were going out. I whined that I was crabby and tired. She made me go anyway, and it was the right thing to do. Since old habits die very hard, we hung out at Nye’s. Billy reminded me of my speeding ticket over a year ago, when I was in the passenger seat dying and not even driving. Sometimes I wish everyone had the same memory I do: remember only the good things. It makes you like people a lot better, if nothing else. My favorite moment was when she’d had a few drinks and pointed out that the scary-looking dude at the next table was wearing a vinylesque jacket with little holes in it that reminded her of acoustical tile. Then she started having flashbacks to staring at the ceiling at the dentist’s office. Then she was telling me her teeth felt numb. That’s when I knew it was time to go. I did some apartment-hunting yesterday, but saw nothing that impressed me. Moving out is Plan A; Plan B still needs some work. Don’t worry, the rumors you heard about firebombing are untrue; it’s entirely financial. Breakups suck. Being in limbo sucks. Fighting over pointless stupid shit sucks. Hearing talk about how crazy I am, that sucks, too. I’m not actually crazy… not just yet. When it happens, you’ll be the first to know. More than anything, I’m tired. To the point where I don’t care if what comes next is worse; all that matters is it’s different. I want all our memories erased so we can wake up tomorrow and actually like each other again. I don’t want to blame anyone for anything anymore, not her or him or me. I know that’s hard to believe, but I’m working on it, and the reason is this: Put all of us in a box and shake it hard for several months, and nothing is going to come out undamaged. It’s not possible. We’re all just trying to survive and be happy. We do the best we can, given less-than-ideal circumstances. And we’re all gonna make it out alive. Promise.Jenni