January 12, 2006
I slept for hours 11 of them and woke up to bi lingual cartoons and paper bag crinkling. The sounds of my home, I couldn’t tell if it was my mother or my father, their love has deepened to the point of one sound. I turned on the computer to catch the newness of blogs and otherwise, the icons jumping for attention as they clue in, there was nothing, do I not read enough? Do I not write enough? The pictures tell my recent tale, I drink enough. The cleaning lady shows, I wish I could close my door with my mind instead my mother comes into to take a nap while they clean the rest of the house, I turn off my secret friend and watch unsolved mysteries. It used to scare me as a child but I was addicted at an early age and now I try to catch to episodes between classes and in the hot comfort of my home bed. Through her snoring I read my book of angels and teacup hearts while Robert Stack’s familiar voice narrated tragedies. My book brings new freedom, I want to dance more, to those songs I downloaded but have never heard of, they must have some kind of dancing worthy meaning, I want to go on a run and spin in circles with my face turned towards the sun. Choosing happiness because I can’t have everything I want, molding what I’ve got and saying I love you to friends who matter. She caught me off guard and I had to ask her to repeat herself, “I love you” and she laughed, I reciprocated. They are surprising me but they aren’t going away, they aren’t trading me in for an older version of myself and I am slowly finding solace in the fact that they are my friends when I feel like I have none.