a victoria p


10 September 2007

norman and the call girl

i feel inclined to contact the outside world. maybe, because i've been smoking cigarettes on a huge white stallion of a shiny police motorcycle out the window of my garage for the last couple of days. maybe, to some, i am writing for what seems to be a more obvious reason. i can't see anyone really reading this, so i'm not so concerned about critisism.

anyway, i've smoked a whole five cigarettes since i've come back home to carmel. i haven't eaten much either and i've been doing the whole throw-up-at-random-times on the kitchen linoleum thing. whiskey has stopped following me everywhere and while it's freeing, i still get a little jealous. right now, my mom is showering with the door slightly ajar so whiskey can come and go as he pleases. she's always thinking of the next way she can please whiskey. he has a box of toys now, which my mom keeps under the kitchen table and he seems to aquire a new leash-set every other day. i guess that's his fault, chewing thru the rope and all, but he never chews through his collar. he has a bunch of mismatched collars now.

my dad is alone and stranded on some island until wednesday, renovating for upcoming family-esque vacations. he calls every other hour or so it seems. at first it was kind of nice being we don’t speak much when we’re in the same place, and while it's still nice, it's become a little annoying. i never know how to close a conversation with my father. we don't do the "i love you," thing, but to me it seems normal for daughters to not do that. i'm not sure.

i rarely get alone time around here and my small house seems smaller than ever before. in apartments i can hear people talk through the walls-- people that don't actually live in "my" apartment. but, i just don't care what they have to say, which is normal, i think. kind of like how watching porn is easy and casual when you're living away from home; how you don't have to worry about using headphones. maybe that was only my adolescence. regardless, i feel awful having telephone conversations late at night. i feel awful plainly staying up after one in the morning. i appreciate that whiskey still insists on sleeping with me even with my overbearing mom around, but late at night he just carries an extra four foot steps behind me while i'm trying to sneak around smoking and surfing the internet and using the telephone. it makes me tense.

right now, my mom just announced, "get ready for bed everyone, come on whiskey it's time to go to sleep!" it's a quarter past eleven, which to me deserves a what-the-fuck. do your mothers ever proclaim some snappy statement starting with, "when i'm gone,"? well, i just received one of those, followed with something like, "you're twenty years old and you can't clean up after yourself? you know, i'm sick and all!" i get these all of the time. on the phone, when i'm away from "home," it's more of a, "you're twenty years old and you can't even go to college for four years like everyone else? what do you mean you can't wake up in the morning? all you have to do is wake up and go to class. it's not that hard, amanda." i hate hearing that i’m twenty years old. i hate not being a teenager because that’s one less excuse i can muster up for fucking up all the time.

whiskey is currently doing some sort of digging-dance on my bed, near my computer. for those who know me, it's a common understanding that my computer is a flake and when it does work, it's as fragile as a glass on a barbie mattress. this dance of whiskey's is making me very upset. i just earlier got my computer to work, after a week of on and off trying. i swear it was almost instant that the foul mood that i've been harboring all weekend was lifted, even if just for a few hours, into complete happiness. or whatever the opposite of feeling this foul is.

time has been sluggish lately and that is only meekly stated. i more so mean, that time has been a complete bitch lately. my eyes have met my watch at about ten of the hour, every hour, all weekend. i've been staring at my telephone all weekend as well. i have permanently imprinted the sound of the ring you hear when you are calling someone, right down to the intervals between the actual ring (and those are not perfect intervals, i assure you). i hate the looks of it, my telephone that is; the only time it's rung is for my father. and my dear friend jacob, who usually would be classified as a dear friend, but after mouthing off my troubles to him for a few hours, he's only made me feel more lousy.

my mother is begging me to stay with her for more of my spring break. she just used some new "hip" language to tell me that the only reason i'm going back to the city is because of a boy. so, i yelled at her. i yelled at her like a six feet under raged blackout. and now, she is sitting in her chair in the living room mocking me. and mumbling how sorry she feels for the man i have to live with one day. she thinks i'm abusive, towards her, and i guess i probably am.

what's worse than my most recent blinding fit is that fucking jaguar commercial. that motherfucking jaguar commercial i saw earlier while walking past the living room. my mom was yapping on the telephone, talking to one of her sisters. i know it must of been one of her sisters because she talks completely different to them. she has such sorrow in her voice and uses language that i imagine she must of used years ago, when she was a kid. anyway, the motherfucking jaguar commercial came on and so did spoon. it was a really long commercial because it got through most of "i turn my camera on," and when it was over, i felt as though i'd been crying for hours.

i'm going to go apologize to my mother, which i rarely do. but, i was taught a rule somewhere along the way-- that you should never go to sleep angry. and that, is a great rule.

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