The Usual

Well, I’m hungry and I’m sick of pizza pockets.

Not much else going on. Just the usual–you know, a general discontent with the world that sometimes rises to disgust and other times ebbs to apathy.

Mom’s been mostly civil to me. She says she understands. She’s been saying that for weeks, but with that parental pause. You know the one: “Oh, yes, I fully agree you’re a grown woman able to make your own decisions, but…” You’d think she’s understand, since she was the one always reminding me I’m not just a brain, I’m a person. I mean, she married my dad, who barely finished high school because he was goofing off. He’s ten times smarter than anyone else I know. He might not know what a trochee is or who Gilgamesh is, but he’s my dad, you know? He has a special sort of intelligence.

Of course, nominally, he’s on my mom’s side. He has to be. She’s obsessed with this idea that there are other reasons I didn’t go off to school besides I didn’t want to. I mean, sure, I was sorta planning to go up through most of the winter, but I can change my mind, right?

And now she wants me to get a job. I plan to. Give me a little time.

My stomach’s really growling. I’ve got to go. I think I’ll run and get something from Taco Bell.

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