Sick

I’ve been extremely ill lately. First my allergic reactions booked me in the ER for two nights, then they put me on steroids. Steroids suck. They don’t kick in until the last few days [like, today, which is how I’m able to type a legible sentence].

I still made all my classes but am behind in one. I have an internship pending and now carry an inhaler, epi-pen, and a shitload of Benadryl in my bag.

And so while I was feverishly shaking in bed, afraid to fall asleep ‘cause I thought I’d stop breathing, I made a deal with God; if I got better, I’d forgive and apologize to my brother, and I’d forgive my mother. To be honest I really can’t explain my faith, and I don’t want to. I was raised both Protestant and Catholic, but I was never ‘into’ church. I do not use my faith as an excuse to prosecute or judge people [that’s called an opinion, Einstein]. Since going to college I’ve been questioning everything I knew, as well as repressing a lot of memories and trying to move forward. M’kay.

So yeah, I’m doing a bit better. I still get the chills and my face turns pink, my tonsils are swollen, and I lost about three pounds [untapped dietary success, w00t!].

I called my Father today, yadda yadda yadda, I talked to my brother ‘seriously’ for the first time since that whole Winter Break fiasco. I think I had a right to be angry, but anger really does cloud a person’s judgment, and you know what? I don’t like hanging onto those negative feelings, I don’t like wallowing in self-pity, I have better shit to do.

Anyway I talked to Dean. I told him up front I was sorry for being so angry with him, and he admitted I was right for doing so because he did/does do a lot of stupid shit. What shocked me was the instant calmness I felt. Apologizing wasn’t that hard, admitting I was wrong to myself, that was difficult.

I just want to get better and get back into school. I hate being sick. There’s no one here to take care of me, though I’m sure if I lived in an on-campus dorm/apartment, I’d gone insane.     

Aftershakes

I thought my daze-like state would go away after a shower. It didn’t. I got dressed in nice clothes even though I was going food shopping, but I got meticulous in what I was wearing, like my mind was on autopilot.

Then, I started cleaning my room. I organized everything. Okay, I thought, this makes sense. Dad’s coming some time this week. Can’t have a messy room when he gets here.

I walked extremely slow to Safeway. I was out of it. Everything seemed more vivid yet hallucinative, like a dream [cliché, I know]. The organizing got worse in the store. First I had to find the right basket, which I uh, never do because it’s a fucking basket, and then I walked around—almost bumping into several shoppers and employees—and all I did was stay clam and let my body run on its own. My brain was like “enough”, I guess.

While I shopped I was again meticulous. I followed my list closely instead of grabbing objects that weren’t on their [but always forgetting that damn butter and eggs], and then I organized them in the basket.

I will repeat that; I organized eleven items of food, in a basket I had to make sure was perfect, while walking around in a dream-like state. When I was finally in line, I put my basket away. As I did so, I organized a whole pile of lop-sided baskets. Maybe I would’ve done that anyway, but that action just adds to this mountain of weirdness.

I came home and, once more, made sure everything was tidy in my refrigerator. My hands keep shaking and I’m light-headed. You have no idea how hard it’s been to type this, so many grammar and spelling mistakes I wouldn’t normally make.

Defeat, that’s what I feel [amongst a load of other emotions]. I’m extremely tired and drained. Now I need to e-mail my teachers and let them know what’s going on, but this is ridiculous.

I really hope my Dad flies up soon.

Life sucks at the moment. BAWW.

What I learned: I can clean and organize things.   

So I had a panic attack…

So I had a panic attack, a very serious, mind-spazzing panic attack. Of course at the time I thought it was either a stroke [I’m 19] or my allergic reaction acting up.

No matter, I rushed myself to the ER [conveniently five minutes away] and the guy at the front desk [who remembers my name because I’ve been there so many times] was so kind and made sure I was looked at right away.

Then my Dad called [I texted him the situation] as I sat in a starchy gown [crying, I’d been crying since running out of my house], and he told me I was having an anxiety attack. He calmed me down a bit.

The doctor came in, repeated the same thing, gave me a chill pill, and then the nurse took my blood pressure again [the first time was 150/110, which is NOT good]. But just having calm voices and stuff made the anxiety lessen [the chill pill helped a lot though].

After all that I stopped by the front desk, thanked the desk guy who then asked what happened, and I told him about, well, the combination of asthma [which went away five years ago and suddenly came back], serious allergic reactions, and stress and what it can did/do to me [apparently…it can do a lot of damage].

The short walk home in early [like 2:40am] Sunday morning air had me repeating phrases like “stupid, you are so stupid” and "“cold, s-so cold”. I really was embarrassed, going into the ER crying with my hair messy and no makeup. I lost my voice after a while, but it came back…sorta… It doesn’t sound like my voice, I don’t sound like me, even as I type and reread this.

Now, onto what I must write down so as I never forget. My panic attack, what it felt like. Christ. I closed my eyes and was seeing colorful lights, my body went numb and my fingers shook [they’re still shaking]. My eyes got blurry and my pupils dilated. I felt as if I had to tell my body to breath, meaning it wasn’t breathing on its’ own in a way I felt comfortable. I tried to pace my breathing but couldn’t keep track of it. After a few moments of pacing, I snapped, panicked, and took off to the ER.  

I thought I was going to die, and thank God I live near an ER [by the way I went last night too, for another allergic reaction and got prescribed a God damn epi-pen. Fuck.], and thankfully was seen immediately.

I’m not going to lie and say I’m okay, because I’m not. I feel the allergic reaction under my skin, but most of its in my head? The doctor couldn’t see the rash but I could. What the hell does that say? The reaction feels like a thousand ants crawling under my skin, like endless microscopic needles are prickling down and twisting. 

Am I crazy? Is this stress? Oh I need an inhaler now too, ha. I’m so drained and out of place right now, it’s difficult to type. I don’t feel angry or sarcastic and I can’t laugh at myself right now.

Why can’t I? Because I had a panic attack, and I thought I was going to die. How dramatic, but less than an hour ago [I wrote this at 3 in the morning] I was huffing and crying and begging my Dad to fly up from San Diego [which he still is, just sometime later this week] like I was ten years old. Even my ten year old self would probably shake her head in disbelief. “We only cry on purpose, and we can switch it on and off, but not tonight,” she’d say. Actually, my ten year old self would be in shock and probably have a panic attack of her own. Great, I just reread that last sentence, I should delete but won’t. My eyelids are getting heavy.     

Living by yourself with no family is tough. Living by yourself makes all the bad things you repressed come out and into the open. Living by yourself makes you look strong and independent and gun-ho. Living by yourself makes you weak and question everything you do. Living by yourself makes you forget how much of a babe your are until you’re on the phone crying to your parents.

How lame.

Goodnight.

What I learned: I can make good time if I think I’m dying.

And I Then Said…

So instead of going to the library and doing my Perspective homework, I stayed home and watched South Park. I have class later today, which I’m of course going to, but yeah. All-nighter, here I come. Whatever.

I have these moments of self-reflection that I never right down and then get annoyed with myself for not doing so. Yeah, it’s a vicious self-pity cycle of fail. I know.

My answer to life.

Anyway, I was thinking about how much I keep ‘surprising’ my old friends and family. I don’t mean I ‘surprise’ them with a birthday party or something [I’m pretty lazy].

Now that I’ve been away on forced to interact with new people, I speak my mind a lot more, I don’t agree and try to make everyone happy. Inside I used to be very angry and have downright hateful thoughts towards many around me. I disagreed with almost all of them on everything, but never presented my side of the story, and so I grew to despise myself as well.  

Often when I disagree with people today, they try and get me to agree with them. I’ve noticed in contrast to this, many of my teachers and adults don’t give a shit about my opinion. In that I mean they simply state their opinion and leave it at that. Nothing else. They usually don’t try and persuade me, as the disagreement is over something trivial.

Oh, more importantly, what they get that a lot of my closer in age friends don’t get, is that life is based on opinions. Our laws, for example, are what we, the majority, agree on as “right” and “wrong”. A criminal might think differently about our laws. Whether he was raised in a certain environment or wants food for his family, he has different opinions than a normal law-abiding person, and here in America that’s fine as long as you don’t get caught breaking the law [cuz then yo’ ass is goin’ to jail, son!].

I like seeing the lighter sides of things despite being a sarcastic depressed fat fuck. Really, I [lovingly] troll my own friends because I’m too much of  a pussy [and lazy bitch] to go after a stranger.

Lately I’ve found a balance of being honest and being polite. There are just some things you don’t say to people, and in contrast, I love fucking with my friends [as mentioned previously].

It’s not a form of revenge [oh, wait…], it’s a matter of me expressing myself. Just because I disagree with a person doesn’t mean I’m right, and it doesn’t mean the other person’s wrong. Even well-documented facts are debatable with me, because that’s just the person I am, I’m open to everything and anything [though I might not always approve/agree with it].

For example, scientists have said for a long while that all multicellular life needs oxygen [or some shit], and guess what? Yup. They found a multicellular organism that doesn’t need oxygen, quite recently in fact, and no one but the geeks were surprised.

Totally reminds me of the jellyfish from SpongeBob. http://www.physorg.com/news189836027.html

Okay, so, basically, what I’m saying is that I know when to leave a fight alone. And, yes,  I get pissed off even at my closes friends if they keep trying and trying to force their opinion on me, like that’s gonna change my motherfucking mind. Yeah. That’s the American way, amirite?   

On another note, my brother apparently returned home. Whatever.  I might post another blog about Dean later. Right now I’m pretty tired and still need to go to class and have an all-nighter to pull.

GO TEAM PROCRASTINATION.

What I learned: It’s okay to have different opinions. It’s not okay to force and continuously debate your opinions when the other person obviously doesn’t give a shit. Calm the fuck down. Not everyone thinks like you.

And just for the record, I’m not forcing my opinion on anyone reading this. I’m ranting online like a 16yr old girl, and remember, no one takes 16yr old girls seriously. Do you?

I Fly

When I listen to music I don’t concentrate on much, other than my thoughts and surroundings. Tonight was especially different, since it’s a  Friday, people are drunk and dressed in expensive clothes. I’m jealous of the girls that look good, and I mean God damn good, but take pleasure in beating them in the BART line ‘cause their ankle-breaking heels make even size 0 wobble. Go New Balance.

I really do think I’m a superhero, I guess because I’m way too into comics and way too young to be weighed down with real responsibility.

My brother ran away from home again. Dad didn’t want him to go to the football game. Instead of listening or attempting to reason with him, my brother took off, and my Dad went to work. It just doesn’t affect me anymore. I’ve made it clear where I stand, and yet there will always be apart of me who loves my brother and another part who deeply resents him.

My brother is only half related to me. It hurts, because I really should blame my mother. But I don’t, she rarely crosses my mind anymore. I feel ugly, hypocritical, evil even. I also feel very human. These emotions are so intense and overwhelming, I’m amazed at how I push them out of my mind and simply don’t fucking care. Yeah, I officially feel like a bitch too.

I wore my Batman hoodie today/tonight. My hood was up, little bag/purse thingy on my shoulder. I flew home and stared at my computer screen for a while, then wrote this random shit down. I’m afraid to say anything cliché, but I have a feeling this whole blog, my whole life is probably a mess of stupid cliché-esq themes and plot points. Can’t wait for the climax. I bet I turn into a supervillain and kill a mayor. Or maybe Lindsey Lohan. 

My life is really interesting, I assure you, whoever’s reading this. Excuse me as I take another dose of Benadryl and pass out.

What I learned: I fly. Often. 

Do Not Feel Ashamed

So my first week of classes is almost up. I’m taking three: Intro to Anatomy, Perspective, and Narrative Storytelling. All come with a butt-load of homework, so, good thing I took only three. 

If I’ve learned anything (about people) in this past year on my own, it’s that no one is alike, and not many people are willing to agree to disagree. I’m an easy person, really. I say outrageous things and make everyone around me smile, but when people refuse to just be like “oh, I don’t agree” and move the fuck on, I just like…my shoulders LITERALLY sag and my eyes roll themselves! It’s disturbing to see people my age throwing temper tantrums. BUT THAT ADDS MORE TO THE LULZ. So, by all means, disagree and try to change my opinion… ;-]

Ronald’s got the right idea.

Whatever, right? Anyway, this morning I called and checked in with my Dad, because I don’t know. I never get “bad” feelings, just anxiety (and the habit of checking in). So anyways, I called my Dad. He has a twitch in his right eye from stress, and no, that’s not normal, but whatever. He told me today his right eye vision was blurry, and I almost started crying at the shuttle stop (one of the many places my school’s buses pick up students and drop them off, respectively).

I told my Dad he needed to go to the ER, like, immediately. And he retorts with “I’m a nurse, if I seriously thought my life was in jeopardy, I’d call 911”. And that, like, does nothing to calm me down. I mean if you looked at me right there and then, at the shuttle stop, I would just be frowning staring at a row of parked motorcycles on the phone. But inside, everything stopped. That’s the best I can describe it.

So, my Dad made me promise not to worry about him and go to class. Immediately after he hung up, I panicked and called my Grandmother, ‘cause that’s his mom [and my Dad loves his Mommy] and then she talked to me, and then I called my Dad back [and this is really common in my family]. My Dad told me there’s nothing to worry about and not to think about him. I hung out with some friends, made plans to get wasted Friday, and went to class. I was overly-chipper, now that I think about it. My brain friggin’ blocked all thoughts of my Dad, it was weird.

Anyway, I called him as soon as I got home, and he told me his vision came back after taking his blood pressure mediation. Yeah. That’s not good. He’s going to see a doctor and not working over-time, but I am having serious separation issues for the first time. I mean I’ve been living in San Francisco for almost a year, 3,000 miles away from anything ‘familiar’, and I’m 8hrs [1hr and 10mins plane ride] away from my Dad. I don’t know, I just wish I was there to take care of him. My brother’s being especially ‘good’, probably because he knows my Dad’s going to have the state mentally evaluate him, but I don’t trust his capability of caring for another human being.

And if my Dad does go into cardiac arrest or has a stroke, my Grandmother said she and my aunts would step in, but fuck if I’m letting them take me and Dean [well, Dean. I’m in college]. He’s a bastard [and a bastard child] but I promised my father I’d take care of my brother and always welcome him in my home [if he ever needed a place to stay]. My father’s already taken the steps so as I’m the soul benefactor in his will, his life-insurance, everything. It scares me how much he trusts me, but if he had any doubts, he wouldn’t tell me all these things, I guess....

I’m really lucky, and yet, I feel like my family problems outweigh a lot of my friends. Not that I tell most [or, uh, any] IRL people this shit I slap on Blogger.

I’m sure you can.

What I learned: Things will get better. They always do. And even if they get worse, I’ll be alright.

Tru Dat

So I had a really bad allergic reaction two+ days ago, and spent half a day in the ER. Thankfully it’s only like, ten minutes away from where I’m staying.

My face is still swollen, as the doctor ‘prescribed’ me Benadryl.

>->

<-<

Yeah.

Anyway, I recently got a disturbing Facebook message from my brother’s ex-girlfriend. Well, really it started with me messaging her about Dean’s whereabouts [when he last ran away].

Eventually we started talking about her and Dean’s relationship. I guess this was confirmation of my brother’s treatment towards his girlfriends. 

Basically my brother’s a God damn liar. And does the “poor me, poor me, I’ve been through stuff” teenage bullshit, but on a whole different level. At least this girl has common sense and realizes my Dad isn’t the one to blame for Dean’s behavior?

Oh, and my brother’s an abuser. I’ve heard him on the phone before, calling this same girl a slut and whore with his friends on the third line, and then blaming his abusive nature on our past. That’s the same story an old boyfriend gave me while he verbally abused me, and the relationship ended after I realized I couldn’t change him. Christ, you have no idea how painful it is to see my brother’s turning out just like my mother. 

And, one more thing; my father and I want him out of the house NOW. My father’s given him chance after chance, always bailing him out of bad situations and whatnot. But after you steal, cheat, lie, and cause a family to spilt and take sides, it’s hard not to want to kick someone out. Dean’s racist, abusive [especially towards women], and he blames everyone but himself.

I don’t even know how to finish this post.

What I learned: I cannot go out with friends and function normally while on Benadryl. In fact, I act like a pothead when I take 50mgs. O-O

Back in the Dream

So, I got an internship. Not telling with who or what or when [or how much I’m getting paid], but it’s with a comic book company, and I’ve never been so thankful in my life. I learned of the internship the night before I left, and I started crying, and blah, everything was overshadowed by the runaway.

I don’t mean to sound bitter. I’m not selfish or vindictive [oh, wait…]. I’m human above all else.

Today I woke up at 10:30am [thank you, phone alarm], then fell back asleep for two more hours. I ended up taking two Benadryl pills last night, because I started having another infamous allergic reaction. Right when I get home. Damn it, I don’t wanna spend another night in the ER [it’s horrible if you’ve gone in more the once, which I have]. 

Oh, in Safeway I was next in line to a meth addict. It’s alarming, my gaydar isn’t even that strong [then again, Gays don’t always flaunt their sexuality like druggies flaunt their addiction, unconsciously or not].

The man looked pre-aged, unhealthily skinny, and had ratty greasy hair. He was buying a large tub of OxiClean and had a bag of coffee cups with him. I was fascinated and revolted by his very existence, as I don’t like drug addicts [that’s no secret, I guess]. Anyway, the man was erratic and couldn’t put whole sentences together. I knew the only reason he kept looking around was if the police were going to pop up from an aisle.

Finally, the meth-head left in a rush and I paid for my items. Nothing surprises me anymore.  

I planned on going to the mall right after I put the food away, but the lack of coffee and fighting off an allergic reaction [WHICH HAS NOT LEFT, MIND YOU] made me lightheaded. So.

I made dinner early and put it in the fridge.

 

I’m going supplies shopping tomorrow, and boy, YAY FOR NEW SKETCHBOOKS. Also picking up flowers for my landlady and a gift-card for my roommate.

On another note, my allergic reaction caused the skin underneath my chin to swell, so all last night I was afraid I was going to suffocate or something. “Looks like you got punched in the throat,” in the words of a good friend

Does my life suck sometimes or what?

We Can Sail The Seven Seas

I missed SanFran, mostly because I have my own room, which I’m getting posters for tomorrow. I never realized how bland the walls were until my landlady tacked up my Clint Eastwood drawing on my wall [which was very sweet].

Anyway, Dean came home again, last night after running away AGAIN, shivering. I felt nothing, AGAIN. He apologized to my Dad, who immediately let him back in. Of course. 

So, the runaway took a shower, ate half the house, then passed out on the couch. I pretended to be asleep and woke up early[ish] the next morning.

I did not say goodbye to him, and did not fall asleep [as I usually do] on the plane ride back, though I am obviously overtired.

My Dad’s been texting and letting me know how much he misses me, and I miss him too. Nothing new happened other than a visit to some ghost-lady with my aunt, and I don’t ever wanna go back. Rip-off.

Oh, and Dean updated his Facebook status:

Poor Dean, his life is so hard and totally unfair.

What I learned: The farther away I am from problems, the less they exist.

Music: I’m A Pirate, You’re A Princess by PLAYRADIOPLAY!

I am a Shooting Star

It’s 1:31am [West Coast] as I type this. I am supposed to [or want to, at least] be asleep. I wanted to get up at 7am, so, yeah, there goes that plan.

Anyway. I just spent several minutes on our apartment’s porch; the sky was lovely. Stars surrounded me, flickering and simply being. It was a wonderful distraction from the desert cold, which, I must admit, is still nothing compared to SanFran’s nights. I was bummed the moon was blocked out by large monster pines, but the glow was still there, and so were the stars. 

My father came back from retrieving the runaway twenty minutes ago. I laid awake, expecting two sets of footsteps, but only heard the door shut after my father’s.

“Dad?” I called.

He went into his room.

“Dad?” I called, again.

His light turned on, flooding into the hall with a warm glow.

“Dad,” I say, practically shout. What happened? I don’t ask.

I learn that after my father picked him up, they indeed had a talk. “You have rules you have to follow,” my father would have said. Dean does not like these rules, such as going to school, not doing drugs, not using the n-word.

He must’ve left my father the moment the truck was parked in the garage. Off to the police station, where my Father had just brought him and Dean graciously treated the officers on duty [by which I mean he didn’t speak to them. At all].

He left, threatening and promising to go back to these same officers and say his father kicked him out. Again.

There is a possibility my father could be fined. The officers do not like this sort of drama.

I have never once been so thankful to be intoxicated [I drank the rest of the Baileys Irish Crème with dinner]. 

“I don’t want him walking the streets at night,” says my father. He grabs his keys and leaves without another word.

Ten minutes of tossing and I push myself out of bed, walk onto the porch, and look down the street. Is that Dad’s truck? No, that’s nothing you idiot.

“He’s gone. Again,” my father says the moment he comes through the door.

My father is pacing again. And again, I feel nothing.

What I learned: I am a shooting star in an asteroid field.

I guess I should try and sleep now.

The Last Day: Parte Tres

“Sarah,” knocks my father, “Sarah.” I had just turned the water off, damp blue towel hanging in front of me.

“Yeah?” I reply, alarmed. He was supposed to be asleep by now.

“Your brother’s at Adam’s house.”

“What?” I can’t understand him.

“Your brother’s at Adam’s house,” he repeats, and I am somewhat relieved but refrain from saying anything along the lines of ‘I told you so’.

“I’m going to get him,” announces my father.

Five minutes later I’m washing dishes, pajama’d up, Dad’s letting me known Dean’s stoned out of his mind and slept on the streets last night. Dad apparently told Adam, my brothers ‘best bro’, that Dean had a warrant out [in reality it was a runaway report in the SDPD system, and is that even the same thing?]. And Adam called my cell, but I was in the shower, rested from eating my favorite meal and watching Iron Man with my father. 

“Your brother’s mentally ill,” says my father by the front door. He’s about to leave and pick the runaway up, something he’s had the pleasure of doing several times. I can’t help it, I snap.

“Poor Dean,” I reply in a voice that isn’t supposed to be heard, but is, because I feel nothing for my brother.

Dad’s face makes me wish I hadn’t said anything. He’s tired, his eyes are red—had he been crying?—and he goes on how I’m his sister.

“I am his sister,” I say, not looking at my father’s face. “I’m not his mother. He’s a mentally ill drug abuser with PTSD."

I don’t hesitate in what I say next.

“He’s just going to do it again. He always does.”

Dad leaves, I place the dishes in the sink to soak. I should probably do them before he gets back, but no, I hopped onto my laptop, checked Facebook, then starting writing on my stupid fucking blog that no one reads just so I don’t sit and think. Think. I don’t want to anymore.

And now my eyes are watering. I need to go do the dishes now. Keep busy, keep busy.

What I learned: I will always love my brother, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him or be in his life. 

Music: Angels on the Moon by Thriving Ivory

Dean will be home soon. He will be high. He will have a long talk with my father on the ride back, and won’t want to talk to me. He will go to bed and might say goodbye to me tomorrow, before I leave. Maybe my Dad will make him go to the airport with us. But, I know he will definitely have nothing to say to me, he won’t be able to look me in the eyes. Good thing too, because for once, I have nothing to say to him.

The Last Day: Parte Dos

So, I fell asleep, and for an interrupted nap…I’ve had better. I also have a headache.

Dean didn’t come home. None of his friends [that I’ve spoken to] know where he is. My Dad’s gone off to SDPD to place a report in [missing persons or a runaway, I don’t know?].

So, yeah. I’m real groggy despite the cheerful valley-girl voice I used on the phone to speak to his “friends”. Not a pang of anxiety or guilt has pressed on my chest, which is unfortunately untrue for my father. 

If he gets a heart-attack next week, I’d like to go on record for saying I love my father, and I’m sorry for this [and I’m sorry his two children are such a disappointment]. Sure I’m in art school and getting good grades, but I’ve yet to separate from him financially. And there’s also the fact that I’m a bitch…well, not always. I’ve cut back a lot since I’ve left MA [and I have enough sense/fear not to swear around my Father. Oh, and I don’t lie [a lot], cheat, and/or steal. So.].  

Whatever. I’m going undercover on Facebook [well, more like stalking. Undercover sounds cooler] and tracking down Dean’s friends’ cell numbers. Even if he’s not with them, at least the word will be out that' he’s missing. That’s the least I can do for my father. I’m leaving tomorrow, after all.

What I learned: Like my brother, I too don’t care [sometimes. In this case, at least].

Peace out.

Update later if there’s anything to update about.

The Last Day: Parte Uno

I wasn’t sure if I should report on my last full day in San Diego, especially since it’s not over. Half of it’s already gone, and I shall miss not shivering in my sleep.

My Father woke me up around 9:30am, so I got a good three hours of shuteye, then begged for another hour which consisted of me laying in bed and listening to him breaking the Dean news to my Grandmother [his mother, age 81] back in MA.

We went food shopping, so wearing a low-cut shirt and my skinny jeans was a mistake. Every creep [non-good looking, mind you] checked me out, so I decided to have a bit of fun and used what Sign Language I learned over the summer and utterly confused some. It was quite a triumphant moment. 

Also, in line I chatted with two older women about Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise [and how fucking crazy Tom is], then Nicole Kidman [and Keith Urban], then Lindsay Lohan. My Dad just pretended to read a cooking magazine or something. People always end up in some sort of conversation with either of us. We’re totally sociable.  

I felt bad talking to my Grandmother earlier today. I could hear the sadness in her voice. I know she blames herself and I know my Dad wants his “son” back. I’m guiltless when it comes to my own feelings, because for once I’m being honest.  

My Dad’s been upset [and out of it, so to speak] all day. Before we went food shopping he talked to my brother’s school’s police officer, and I guess there’s a chance he might come home tonight.

I do not want him back.

After putting the food away, we [my Dad and myself] went for a walk by the Naval Base in San Diego. He asked if I wanted to go on the docked makeshift museum-ship, and I asked if there were any cute cadets. So. We skipped the museum tour.

For the rest of the day I plan on relaxing and watching The Onion’s channel on Youtube:

“The fucking piece of shit is available now.”

I might doodle something, well, I always doodle [at least once a day, it’s impulsive], but  I haven’t been able to draw the way I wanted to since I’ve arrived, back in mid-December.

What I learned: My Dad has and always will love my brother unconditionally.

And I shall type the statement again; I do not want him back.

Dean, you bastard. Go away and take your flat-brimmed hats with you.  

Bury This

You know, I've become emotionally insensitive to my brother and father. I'm not afraid to type this and fling it on the web, either, because neither of them have the capacity to comprehend my ability to actually update a blog. OHH BIG LONG SENTENCE. No matter, another dramatic twist has erupted and threatened to consume me once more [welcome to my life].

My brother was approximately one hour and twenty-eight minutes late. He could have called, but didn’t. He doesn’t have his own phone because he’s sold and/or broken the last five my father’s unconditionally bought him. Still, all my brother’s friends have phones, and he uses them often [sometimes to call me to see if my father’s awake so he can sneak it].

My brother is most likely with his friends, or a girl, or all of the above while smoking a joint or drinking vodka mixed in soda. Hey, we were all teenagers once, right? Right. Right…

There are so many family secrets I keep re-discovering [because I've mentally blocked quite a few], and so many questions that will never be answered. Perhaps it's better that way, or perhaps I need to stop blogging and sit down with my father and ask "why did this happen?". Such an open-ended question, might have to scratch that.

Anyway, back to my brother. His name is Dean, after Dean Martin, but I tell him he’s named after James Dean for a number of unrelated reasons.

My Dean is 15, tall, dark, and somewhat handsome [well, all his short-lived girlfriends think so, despite his baby-face and round nose and skinny body]. He is also failing his sophomore year of high school. He lies, he cheats, he steals, he smokes weed and drinks; everything I was revolted and attracted to [in an glorified idealistic sense] in high school. I thought doing crazy things was cool, funny even, but seeing my brother high and vomiting has altered my mindset significantly.

A year ago I was a senior on the other side of the country when Dean, aided by a friend and said friend’s mother, ran 3,000 miles away, went to court, and placed a false police report against my father. Basically, the friend’s mother wanted custody of Dean for his SSI number, because she’s on welfare and was losing her house [and you can’t make that shit up]. That woman was very similar to Dean and mine’s own mother, who I will refer to as Mommy Dearest, but still, he went to court and lied and my father spent 5k on flying from MA to CA + lawyers + court expenses. That’s just one of the many things he’s done, and one of the many things I can never forget, mainly because I had to go to court myself.  

And then Dean hands his keys to my father an hour and twenty-eight minutes after he’s supposed to be home. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t say anything, just leaves. My Dad locks the door after his footsteps silence. 

I don't like who my brother’s become. We're familiar strangers, though that term can be applicable to all my family relations. Even so, our relationship consists of him belittling me, harassing me, borderline threatening me. People say this is 'normal' teenage behavior. Really? I suppose this depends on how you describe 'normal', but even so I do not like it. I am hurt, I am done.

I will return to San Diego this summer, briefly, but I've made my father promise that if I am uncomfortable I have permission to leave. Whether he sticks to this promise remains up in the air, but even so I realize how important it is that I see my father. I am his firstborn, his only daughter, and probably [and unfortunately] his only child. I have a lot to live up to, and my father deserves to have at least one respectful offspring.

Hopefully Dean won’t come back, though I am thinking of writing him a brief goodbye note before I return to San Francisco and throw myself into school. He doesn’t deserve my tears or concerns. He doesn’t deserve my father’s love and attention and money.  

What I learned: I don’t know my brother anymore, and I don’t want to know him.  

I could go on, but I won't; the phone is ringing, Dad picks up. His voice is worried, muffled. I have to make sure he stays calm. I don't want to lose my only parent to my only brother. I don't want to lose myself, either.

Batman Forever + Baileys

Did you know when you pour a fourth of Baileys Irish Creme in a full [Slurpee] cup of Pepsi Max, that the creme will rise to the top and clot in floaty bits? It takes about five to ten minutes, but tastes all the same despite looking like rotten milk. Yum.

This drink goes great with Batman Forever and/or Batman and Robin. I am so thankful for Christopher Nolan, because after I seriously got into comics in high school I simply could not watch any of the previous Batman movies [well, enjoy them at least]. I really liked Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman in Burton's second movie, and that was about it. Sure she was a psychotic cat-lady [which Selina has been in the comics, depending on what writer was working on her at the time], but it was a hell of a lot better than Halle Berry. Seriously, Halle, first Storm then Catwoman?

And, I do enjoy Tommy Lee and Jim Carrey in Batman Forever. Whoa, oh my God, Chris O'Donnell was gorgeous back then, though Chris Evans is the better Chris as of now. Hi-ho Silver, Captain America. ;-)

I wonder how this concoction will mix with the Benadryl I took approximately I don't know how many minutes ago [probably 40, I never time things unless fire is involved]. Boy Baileys makes the soda go flat. Do not try that unless incredibly bored, as I am.

Oh, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail is on, but I've come to a point where I only wanna see the killer bunny part.