|Current mood:||worn out|
|Current music:||Mamas and the Papas - Trip, Stumble, and Fall|
December 25th, 2003
I just took my clock with the red neon lines that form numbers indicating the time and sat it a bit closer to me at my desk so I would be able to check up on it easier. Yes it is Christmas but despite the lights, the tree, and spending time with the relatives, it just doesn’t have that magical feeling it once had. When you were little it was all one big count down. A count down until December the month came, a count down until Christmas Eve by the days. A count down by the hours until bedtime so that when I woke up it would be time to open presents. But now it feels just like any other day. To contribute to the feeling of a regular day, I am not sleeping. I’m just not tired, that’s how it is for me sometimes. Around midnight I opened up one of my presents. It was the VHS for Scorcese’s film Taxi Driver. I had intended to see the film for a long time and when I got it for Christmas I decided I wasn’t going to wait until morning to watch it. So I popped it in and just recently finished watching it for the first time. What a film. The story, the character’s personalities, the lighting, the angles, and writing style, the message, the signature Bernard Hermann score, everything. It was great, simply put.
Last night before I fell asleep I flipped through the book of Salvador Dali that Samantha got for me for Christmas. I looked at all of the paintings, I can’t wait to read the biographical portion of it. When I went to sleep, I had several dreams. One that I recall was part cartoon, part 3d animation, and part real. Well, as far as real goes in the dream world. It sort of reminded me of Fantasia but with a dash of peyote. There were trains driving around a large house with wooden floors while robbers were trying to rob the place. The angle of which I viewed it from flew around the house like a bird. Going up high and panning around the scene and cutting low and zooming across the floor picking up little detail people miss out on. The house was real, the burglars were animated, and everything outside of the house was like a video game. The other dream I remember having was this beautiful day at this park. It was just a large grass field, perfect green grass with a blue sky and streaks of white clouds. There was one path that curved all around the park in random places. Around the edges of the field were thick woods. Everyone was at the park. That was something that really stood out. The Mexican kids who would usually be seen standing on a city street corner smoking pot were just taking a walk in the park. Faces of all kinds and all ages were in this fucking park. In dreams, you don’t have any human faults like fatigue. So I have my arms extended out to my sides and I am running all around in this perfect grass field like I am a child pretending to be an airplane. And I am running fast, like fucking fast and never getting tired. I’m zig zagging between people who are relaxing in the field and they just smile at me. Normally I am freaked out by a very uppy and cheery world like this because it seems like everyone had gotten a lobotomy or something, but it was fine in the dream. It just made me feel really good seeing all these different kinds of people coming together and being happy. While I was zooming around I ran into ex-girlfriend Catherine for some reason. I stopped to talk to her. We were walking down the path as we talked, I don’t remember what about. I remember she was walking very slowly and that annoyed me. I wanted to continue zooming around like an airplane but she was talking slow and walking slow and eventually I just took off and kept zooming. I ran around that field again like I was a godamn airplane. I got up to where the woods are and had to make a sharp turn. I was going so fast I was unable to do it and I fell down. I was lying in the grass feeling perfect when I woke up from my dream.
Today I went over my cousins’ house and my mom’s side of the family and we all hung out. This was one of the best times I have had with my family. I sat down with a few of them and we just started talking and movies and somewhere down the line the JFK assassination got into the conversation. We went on and on about all the theories and all that shit. It was great. Usually at these family get togethers, everyone is talking really loud about stuff I’m not familiar with so I just sit in the corner very quiet and wanting to just disappear. Normally I’d just slip into the basement and watch TV to get away from the awkwardness. But this time I was starting up a lot of the conversation and kept up with it. I don’t know what it was, maybe it’s all just part of the new Ryan and how I have come to change over the past two years. Either way, it was a lot of fun. I did go in the basement but all of us “kids” did. Most of the kids were in their 20s hence the quotes. I played a few games of pool with my cousin Laura’s fiancé. I had met him before a few times but we never really got to talk. I just asked him what kind of music he liked and we went on and on about good metal bands, classic rock like Pink Floyd and the Grateful Dead, classical composers like Beethoven and Tchaikovsky, it was great. I don’t know if I have ever had a conversation with someone who was as into classical music as I was. He knew what I was talking about with the way certain pieces make you feel and he told me about other pieces like that. We talked about Beethoven’s 9th and the contrast between the slow and the fast which is what makes the fast seem so powerful, and the Overture 1812 and how it’s… well the overture of 1812. Great stuff. My mom and her sisters are funny together because they always talk about their childhood. Tonight they were talking about how when they were kids they would do the ‘Would you rather…” game. Well it’s not really a game they would just ask each other questions or ‘girl talk’ and they so put it. I thought it was funny hearing my mom refer back to one of the questions which was ‘Would you rather streak in the school gym or get felt up by a boy.’ When she said felt up by a good she waved her arms around and said it in a very funny tone as if at the time it was such a disgusting thing to say. Then they all laughed about it and we all laughed at them and it was fun. If you don’t understand it’s because you just had to be there, sorry sucker.
I noticed that sometimes I seem like I am not paying attention to what people say. I don’t always make eye contact when someone is talking to me; I nod my head and say yeah repeatedly, and so on. It seems like I am not paying attention, but it’s those times that what you said usually sticks with me the most. That’s the thing that when I am sitting around and there is no noise, what you said at that moment will replay in my head. Very strange.
Taxi Driver. Taxi Driver. Can’t get it out of my head. Travis was a very interesting character. He is the kind of person that I think about. I imagine these people and wonder that if I keep thinking about them that I will somehow become them. He works as a taxi driver, works nights. He drives around the city and just observes things. It was interesting seeing that because it reminded me a lot of myself, the way he looked at the world and everything. The way he became obsessive and kept pulling out his guns and pointing them in the mirror, it was so human. That’s the part of movies you usually don’t see. You just see a bunch of guys running around with guns shooting at each other. You never see the transitional state when they were someone normal and the moment they first held that gun in their hand and adjusted to the way it feels to hold and fire a gun. He was doing push-ups and pull-ups with his shirt off. I always thought to myself about that and movies. When a character is evolving and becoming something else, there is something about seeing the human body and it’s muscles and bones being put into different positions, stretching and shrinking all with the intention of becoming stronger. All it takes is repetitive resistance to become something powerful. Not that it takes muscle to be powerful. The strongest man in the world becomes a pussy when I deliver some good old silver bullets through his nut sack and his forehead. Muscles create strength but not power. Power comes from the mind, and weapons. But a weapon ceases to function without a mind to operate it. So the mind wins in the end. Anyway, the way Travis felt hopeless and the world wasn’t going to change. He would be stuck in this slum forever and he wanted to do something about it. All this built up frustration and energy had to be released somehow. He released it by putting some bullets in pimps and helping little Iris to end her wicked ways and return to her family. It was a very interesting film indeed.
When I originally came to write this I had the intention of just writing this. I wanted to write about how the way things are late at night. Everyone else is asleep, you have peace. The only catch is you have to be quiet. You tip toe around in the dim lights. I seem to notice more details of life when I am suffering from lack of sleep. I scratch my cheek and hear the nails on skin. I notice the way my fingers fall into positions when they have to perform a function. To open a cabinet, to pick up something, to undo my belt. These fingers are instinctive to these everyday things and I don’t have to think twice about doing them. I paid so much attention to the fact I lifted up my shirt and pulled my belt out from under the strap, then clicked it out of the metal bar that holds it in place, then pulled the bar back so I could slide the belt off. The sound of sliding leather, the sound of a zipper. It’s weird how a zipper sounds different going down then going up. Same zipper, different sound. Normally all I’d be thinking about it how I had to take a piss, but on this particular night, it was different. The way your face looks in the mirror when you are sleep deprived, it looks different. I don’t know how to describe it though. I just like the feeling of this very observant nature. I enjoy the simple pleasures like that where you don’t need anything fancy to be amused. You just do your everyday thing but pay really close attention to all that you are doing and learn a little bit about yourself.
Well I have nothing else interesting to say and I have to wake up in a few hours to open all my presents for Christmas, so I should be getting some sleep. I just felt the urge to write tonight so I went ahead and did it. Merry Christmas to all (except the Jews) and to all a good night.
Hang on let me finish this sandwich.
I’ve been meaning to add on to this but I just never really felt like it. Christmas was good. I got a lot of DVDs, wide angle lens for my camera, shotgun microphone for my camera, some premium dvc tapes, desk lamp, a microcassette recorder because I talk faster than I can write, a watch for some reason, gloves, a hat, clothes, Vice City, a new wallet (old one got stolen with $200 in it), Kill Bill poster from Sam, and a book on Salvador Dali from Sam, and there’s probably more that I can’t remember. Since my brother got a lot of new shit for his room he gave me some of his old posters and lava lamp-ish stuff. I have Christmas lights in my room, pretty sweet.
The past few days I haven’t really done much of anything. I have been sleeping for over 12 hours a day, and when I am awake I am still very inactive. I’ve just been watching movies, watching tv, laying around my room writing, or on the computer. I haven’t been outside since Christmas Eve.
Anyway, I noticed how weird I really am yesterday. I am very paranoid about everything, but not in a bad way. I walked past my wall and the wind made one of the posters move. The noise of it scraping the wall made me jump, I thought someone was crawling through my wall and into my room or something. I always think weird shit like that and believe it for a split second. On the bus one morning I was half-asleep and some shitty car with a loud muffler sped along side of us. I thought there was a guy with a chainsaw behind me so I jumped up and screamed ‘oh shit!’ with a lot of fear in my voice. And as for the Truman Show, damn the Truman Show. That came out how many years ago? I saw it when it first came out and haven’t seen it since, but the thought of cameras everywhere still lingers in my mind. I am even now looking at the possibility of birthmarks being cameras. I’ll never escape! Ah, I’m not that weird I guess. I don’t really believe in that stuff, I guess just thinking about it so often makes me think I do.
So I am thinking my screenplay with either be five or six acts, I can’t decide yet. I have written three so far and last night I did a very severe revise job on half of that. I plan on revising the rest of what I have written and write act four before the break is over. I think that’s very possible. The other day I was wondering about costumes and I checked ebay. You should see the selection. Full tunics, gowns, you name it. And you can get decent costumes between $10-30. I guess I could tell the actors if they want to keep the costume after production they can pay for it, if not I will. While I was revising I added a lot of notes about what the characters are doing, not just what they are saying. Body movement and hand gestures, I had always pictured what they were doing in my head but I thought I should get it down on paper before I forget. I can really visualize the way I hope it will turn out, I think it’s all possible so far. The only thing I really have to do is make sure I get good actors. I’m going to go to Shawnee and Cherokee plays and see what kids over there are good and if they would want to be a part of my film.
I don’t think I mentioned this before and I don’t feel like going back and checking so I’ll just put it here. On Christmas Eve, I don’t know what most families do, but I know my family is a bit different. We were in the basement playing pool and my uncle brings up the Paris Hilton sex tape on the computer and everyone watched it over and over. I just found that so amusing.
I’m going over Samantha’s around 3 and tomorrow I am going skiing until Thursday I think. Skiing used to be fun because I used to go about 30-40 mph down the hill. But once I realized just how easy it is to slip and hit a tree and die from that, I started going slower. And slow isn’t fun, I love the speed. But oh well. We’re going to play paintball too while we’re there so that makes up for it. Hopefully I’ll get some writing done while I’m there.
Thought I’d something more to say…
I’m back from ‘vacation.’ Lots to talk about. Let’s start with the night before I left, I went over Samantha’s house for their family get together. It was very interesting, although I am a bit fuzzy on details, I wish I had written this earlier while it was fresh in my mind. Her relatives were nice, telling jokes, having a gun fight with the little kids, and so on. It was a good time, but now on to the ski trip.
On the car ride there I had my headphones on the whole ride of course. I listened to a mixture of classical music and black metal, the usual. There was a lot of stuff along the roads that I wish I could’ve taken pictures of. I had my camera but I didn’t want pictures from the car, I wanted to get right up there. For example the sun was setting casting a golden glow on everything and there was this big pond with all these birds in it. It looked so cool, I wanted to get up close and get a picture, oh well. While we were checking in to the place there was a dumb bitch in line complaining about how long the line was. Complaining like a dumb bitch isn’t going to make it move. You were with your family which was your intention, so just fucking talk to them. Who cares if you are standing in a line, fuck you. I would’ve said something to her if I wasn’t so damn hungry and fatigued. I walked to some bar with my sister and got some food. You could tell this was a small town, it had that small town eerie feel. The kind of place where everyone knows each other, gave me the creeps for some reason. The town seemed so, I don’t even know. It was like a diner, a bar, and a restaurant all next to each other on the same road, like oh the tough guys play pool and drink at the bar while the families and couples go to the restaurant and the kids or something go to the diner. I saw Ali 3 there which is being promoted to Ali 2 and Tara is being demoted to Ali 3 because this girl looked more like Ali 1. Never mind. The hotel room was prison. Small, crammed, whatever you want to say. It was like a prison. Freezing on the first floor, hellish heat on the top floor. But whatever, I don’t care. Skiing wasn’t bad. Only went skiing a little bit while I was there.
I just switched computers and got some popcorn. I’m in my room now, dark except for the lava lamp and Christmas lights. I put on the Eagles record, and now I am back to writing. Skiing was not bad, hardly anyone there, had the whole trails to ourselves. Me and my dad would fly down the hill and my sister and mom would go behind us slower. I followed my dad through the zig zags and what not, I felt like James Bond chasing the bad guy down the hill shooting at him. Good times I suppose. Of course Joe didn’t go skiing, he stayed at the hotel with his girlfriend Steph. When we came back he was complaining of course because that’s the kind of mother fucker he is. It’s humorous in a way because he thinks he’s tough and shit but he uses such juvenile words like ‘taddle tale.’ He was bitching to my parents how he hates my sister because she’s a taddle tale. Yeah, cool Joe. Although I must say Joe’s stories get better each time he tells them. But mainly because he exaggerates them. For example I’ll be sitting in the room with him and he tells me he jumped off a twenty foot high roof. Then my parents come in and he tells them he did a flip off of a thirty foot high roof. Happens everything time, always exaggerates.
So like I said it’s about 200 degrees where I was supposed to sleep. The pillow, ha, what pillow. It was so weak it was mostly just pillow case. My brother snores like a mother fucker, unimaginably loud. I’m trying to sleep while he’s starting world war three in his nose a few feet away. It wasn’t just that. His stomach was making weird noises, it sounded like people inside him screaming, like Hell was inside him and the tormented souls were screaming in pain. There were all kinds of lights coming in through the windows and weird noises from the refrigerator and the heater. I wanted to sleep downstairs because it was freezing cold down there, but there was no where to go. I was ready to go sleep in the fucking bath tub. I slept for about an hour the whole night. You know me I can pull an all nighter easy. But that’s because I’m up watching a movie or some shit having fun. I don’t want to pull an all nighter laying in a uncomfortable bed staring at the ceiling listening to my brother snore. By the time the sun rose I stumbled downstairs feeling like my eyes were swollen to twice their size, it was awful. A vacation means to get away, but the only thing I got away from was the pleasures in my life and my sanity. The whole time I was there I kept thinking about Samantha. Thinking about what she would be doing at that time, thinking about how I wish I was with her instead of in this fucking place. Everyone decided to go skiing except me, too fucking tired. I laid on the couch watching movies and eating until I puked. I ate so much, it was great. I watched Goodfellas, Animal House, and Donnie Brasco. I even got some work on my script done while they were skiing, it was great. Then they all came home and what ever, I didn’t really care. I was half out of it anyway. We went out to dinner, the restaurant this time instead of the bar. The same miserable bitch waitress that was there last year was still there. Last year when we went to this shithole I had my wisdom teeth pulled so I didn’t ski or eat anything, I just sat there in pain. What kind of fucking christmas is that? We didn’t get you want you want, but we are going to rip out four of your teeth than take you out in the middle of no where and bore you to fucking death. Merry fucking Christmas. But that was last year, fuck last year. That bitch was still working there, we didn’t get her though, we got this guy Darrel. You know in Office space when they talk about flare, all the little buttons on your vest? Darrel was the king of flare my god. Not an inch of his chest, stomach, and back didn’t have flare on it. It was amazing. He was funny and friendly, all that good shit. I was watching the bitch take other tables. She was arguing with the people and every single time she left a table she passed me and I heard her mutter something under her breath. For example this one guy asked where the salad bar was and she said right in front of you then she walked away. And as she passed me she mumbles open your fucking eyes prick. But yeah, Darrel was the man.
Here is what I don’t get. My parents, Joe and Steph. My parents will go skiing with me and my sister leaving Joe and Steph alone in the room for hours. They could fuck a few times in that amount, they could do whatever. But my parents don’t care. But at night, they are so worried that they are going to sneak around and sleep together. Oh dear mother fucking holy christ! Not sleeping together! Sex, oh that’s fine. But I don’t want my boy falling asleep with his arm around no girl! Fucking weirdos.
That night I slept on the floor in the downstairs. I slept for about half the night, which was a huge improvement to the night before. I can’t remember my dream for the life of me, oh well. It was cool though. Nothing like a cold floor to sleep on while your on vacation, ah now that’s pleasure. Before I went to bed that night my mom and I were talking about religion which led to cults who brainwashing people, go figure. My mom liked how even though we’re not religious or anything I am still interested in the bible (and the satanic bible) because she felt bad she never taught me about it. I told her not to feel bad, she should feel good. It was my choice to become interested in it. Even though I don’t take it seriously the slightest, I just read it because the stories are cool, but whatever. Religion is for someone who feels empty inside and needs something to tell them there is something there for them. I don’t need that kind of false compassion. I’m comfortable with believing in nothing. But anyway, she told me this story about a guy a knew, son of her friend, he went to college and his roommate was in some cult. He brainwashed this guy I knew. He came home for thanksgiving, brought his weird roommate with him, and from that and the things he was saying his mom knew something was up. She finds out what’s going on from someone else and they tell her that she has to be careful what she does because she could loose her son forever because once these people get a hold of your mind you are lost and the old you is nonexistent. But very carefully, somehow she got him out of it and he’s back to normal and transferred schools. Brainwashing, new one of my fears. To loose your mind is just, damn. Don’t have any words for that.
My mom bought the Devinci Code, I am going to read it as soon as she is done. It sounds like an amazing novel, read it. So when I wake up after a decent night sleep, I hear that my dad’s friend Frank is coming up for the day to play paintball with us. He’s been friends with Frank since they were kids. Also, Frank was only staying for the day, lucky me I rode home with him which is why I am here typing this now on Tuesday instead of on Thursday. Fuck vacation. Home is my vacation. Paintball was great, nothing like simulated warfare and the satisfaction of a good shot on some mother fucker. I have more bruises for diving around then from actually getting shot. Despite was people tell you, getting shot isn’t really that bad. And if they tell you it hurts it’s because they are a pussy.
So we get home from paintball and take showers and are getting ready to go out to dinner and have Darrel the man serve us once again. But you know what prevented that? A wet shoe. True story. My dad cleaned our shoes from paintball and my brother found that his shoe was too wet to wear so he refused to go to dinner and threw it around the room. My sister offered he put it in the dryer and he threw his shoe at her, pretty fucking hard too. He’s such an asshole. My sister has put up with a lot of the shit he gives her. But today she decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore and she threw the shoe back at him. Poor Frank has to witness one of these trademark Flamini fights. He knew my dad when he was a little kid, children. He sees a couple of the little fucks that are the outcome of him knockin up my mom and sees them fighting. What a sight for him. He was probably baffled at how it was all over a fucking shoe. So me, Frank, and Steph sit in the room as it goes on then my sister runs away and my parents follow her to comfort her because my brother said a lot of rotten shit to her. She’s unstable as it is so saying that shit to her is really going to break her down. Then Joe sits down like he’s the man and he did the right thing and all this shit. That’s what makes him so fucking terrible, he thinks what he does is right and that it’s good. The clock ticks away and we miss the dinner reservations. We don’t know what’s going on. An hour goes by and not a word is said. For some reason Joe decides he’s going to think about my sister so much that he is going to flip out again. He starts throwing shit again and starts screaming. My dad takes him into another room and they are screaming at each other. Frank, Steph, and I all look at each other. I break the silence by saying something about how this was normal and it doesn’t really phase me anymore. Frank goes outside and pretends to be fixing up something with his truck but he was just uncomfortable being in that fucking place with all that shit so he just went outside to get some air. I got talking with Steph and she told me all about Joe. He thinks that no one loves him. He thinks my parents love me and baby my sister, meanwhile he gets the shit treatment. I’ll tell you what Joe, you think that because you are such an ignorant asshole. You aren’t going to get compliments acting like a dick. So he’s sensitive in his own way. He feels unloved and lashes out about it like a child. Frank eventually came back in and we talked about movies and music. Three hours pass, three fucking hours. Joe is still downstairs in a conference or some shit with my parents and my sister had skipped town and gone to see her friend Jesse. I go downstairs and tell them me and Frankie are leaving. We load up my shit in the truck and go.
We had very interesting conversation in the car. Frank even told me it’s hard to talk to people these days, but I am really easy to talk to. It started with movies and all these cool sex scenes with Gina Davis and Selma Hyack that he likes. Then we started talking about how my filmmaking is going and my future with it. I told him about how I want to do the weird NJ documentary with my friends this summer and he was telling me about the weird people who live in the Pine Barrens who are obsessed with the Jersey devil shit. He told me about his ghost experience which he had told me before but it was good to hear again because it’s interesting. We stopped to get some food and talked about music, oldies mostly. When we got back in the car things got very interesting. Since we were talking about oldies he was telling me about the 60s and how he smoked pot, snorted coke, crank, did acid, and shrooms, and all these drunk experiences. Of course it started with “Don’t tell your dad…” But god damn, I had no idea. He told me this one day he smoked up before going to school and he said the walk from the parking lot to the school felt like it took him three days. Then when he got inside my dad nearly kicked his ass because my dad is all antidrug and what not. And how you can find psychedelic mushrooms in horse shit and how he and his friends would go out on a farm, find it, boil the mushrooms then drink it and have a 12 hour trip. He said he saw the trees walk away. He was sitting in the woods and all the trees got up and walked away haha. He said he was ashamed of all the shit he did because he had no idea what he was snorting or taking. People would just put it in front of him and he’d do it. His first time taking acid, he didn’t realize it took so long to wear in. So they go back to the dealer a few hours after taking it and tell her it didn’t work so she gave them another hit. Well when both of those hits wore in he was fucked up for hours. He said it was crazy. He said crank made him horny as hell, he’d fuck anything haha. He said when he sees movies like Scarface and the scene when Al Pacino snorts all that coke, he feels a tingle in his nose like he remembers what it felt like and it kind of scares him because of what a damn rush it was. He was telling me about these times when he was hanging out at his dealers house having dinner and his wife and daughters were fucking beautiful and all this shit. And all these times he went to places either high or drunk and didn’t know how he ended up home. He said he was at the beach, got incredibly drunk and woke up at his house. Didn’t know how he drove home or anything, fucking crazy. But he said once his friends got busted he stopped because it scared him I guess of how real it was. He told me he was glad I don’t do drugs and that my friends don’t pressure me in to doing them because his friends did. He said you were an outcast and called a narc if you didn’t do drugs back in the 60s. It was amazing though. Just to hear this man I have known all my life, who my dad has known all my life, and hear all these stories, this whole side of him for the first time. My parents were strait shooters, but here is a true 60s child telling me about it. Fucking good start to abandoning the vacation.
So that chapter of my life is over, six days until school starts again, and it is eleven minutes into new year’s eve. The only sounds are the crunching of popcorn in my mouth, this lava-lamp like thing next to me, my fingers pecking away at the keys, and the voice of Frank Sinatra filling the air. I can’t wait to talk to and see Samantha tomorrow. I’m excited to sleep in my bed tonight instead of on the floor or some shit like that. It was quite an interesting few days. Seeing this broken man that is my brother explode once again and hear ol’ Frankie telling me about the lovely 60s. Lucky son of a bitch got to live it. I wish that when the ball drops in roughly 12 hours it is January 1st, 1960. But that’s not going to happen so fuck it. I’m out of popcorn, out of things to ramble on about so that’s all.
On my way downstairs to upload this I was confronted by my parents. They were asking me about how I felt about the whole Joe and Kristen arguments. I learned that my brother really opened up his feelings and what not so I think we are finally, FINALLY, making some progress. He seems like he knows he has outbursts and he doesn’t want to but once it starts it’s too late. He told my parents that I am the perfect child. That’s a pretty cool compliment I guess. But my parents were so convinced that their arguments shatter me inside, that it hurts me, that it affects me. I told them how I write about it and that’s my way of venting it I guess you could say. I write about everything, that’s probably why I don’t have much bottled up inside of me. Writing is so fucking good for you. It was weird though, they wanted me to cry or something, they felt like I was hiding my emotions or something. I cry when I want to, I’m not going to cry because you feel like I should. This is between you guys, I just happen to be in the same house as this shit. It affects me in some ways I guess but in my own fucked up way. To me it’s just another experience, something to see, the thrill of the day. They are all actors performing a play all around me. I’ve watched so many movies that real life drama just seems fake like it’s in a movie or something. Whatever. For the first time I can say that I finally think things are getting better for this family, things are looking up, there is a possibility this shit is going to be over once and for all. I learn my life lessons through other people’s mistakes. I see them argue and learn about life through that, isn’t that a sweet deal. It’s been that way all my life. Whatever, this isn't interesting anymore. Quite a long entry, congrats if you read it.
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