everyone else has something to do on tuesday nights, apparently.
i’ve left three awkward messages trying to get someone on the phone to talk to. then chris called to ask if we had a meeting (i got pathetically excited when my phone started ringing). i said no. he said i just made his night.
“I still can’t get out the frustration to gather the empathy I have for everybody. There’s good in all of us and I simply love people too much. So much that it makes me feel just too fucking sad. Sad little sensitive, unappreciative pieces.”—Kurt Cobain (via whenthecamerasoff) (via kcobain) (via cityyandcolour) (via —bloodbank)
i don’t know. i couldn’t stand it. i couldn’t stand to be in the house anymore.
not only was i trapped in the house, but in the basement. our family room and kitchen floors are ripped up, to put in hardwood. our dining room and living room are filled with the crap of other rooms. it was either stay cooped up in the basement and watch the boys play video games, or go upstairs and stew in my room all day. (which i cleaned today, by the way.)
so i went out.
they weren’t supposed to know. it was no big deal. i biked to eileen’s, dad found out and called me home. we stayed at my house for five hours, got bored, biked to dairy queen. dad found out. called me home. then eileen had to go home, and she didn’t want to bike by herself. not because it’s not safe, but because she didn’t want to if she didn’t have to. so i said i’d go.
we are the safest bike riders in the world. we get off of our bikes and walk at every intersection. we wear our helmets (because eileen said she’d take the bike away if i didn’t; she’ll save my life one day, i know it). the way to her house is by a bike path. nice, wide, and paved. we walk the bikes over the bridge, because we don’t like how narrow the path is. we wait and watch at every cross street, because we’re patient, laid-back people. where’s the rush? then we wave nicely at people who stop for us and gesture for us to go first.
one truck didn’t take a right turn, and the man in the red tank and baseball hat with a neat black beard in the driver’s seat waved us on. we waved back. the person behind him honked irritably.