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Rachael. Ugh. She tries too hard. I hate it. She takes her personality and multiplies it to make fun of me, because she’s aware that nobody knows her bitchy, stupid home self. She doesn’t do this with her friends, either—just with me and family and Lewi kids. I get the distinct impression that Lewisburg is going to suck.
I’m also having separation anxiety from several people right now, and MySpace/Meebo separation anxiety (lolz, laugh all you want, bitches, but that’s my form of communication without a cellular device), which doesn’t make any of this easy. I’m lethargic and extremely sad—but not for the same reasons as for years past (being lonely). I’m sad because I can’t see the people I love most. Also, Elizabeth is sick. So I’m bored out of my fucking skull, and we’re headed to 1290 soon, and I don’t want to fucking go, because my mom’s not going to be there, and I know how the Connors people are—we’re going to fucking stare at each other for an eternity while they try to make fucking small talk, and Rachael and Alexa and I will sit next to each other, cramped on a couch for the painfully pointless interrogation, and Rachael will likely complain silently about me sitting too close to her, and we’ll mentally punch one another until she goes off and plays with the younger cousins (on that side of the family, I have no cousins remotely near my own age within four years in either direction, except for a step-cousin in New Mexico who is my same age and my polar opposite—helpful, kind, and outgoing), leaving me to rot on a couch or some other halfhearted business. I’ll attempt to avoid going to the bathroom because that house is so…grimy…and I’ll count down the seconds until my mom’s coming to get me, and maybe steal my dad’s cell phone to call her. I’ll try not to puke or eat anything. That time Liz and I went there for Independence Day, we attempted to have some Coke, but when we drank it, it felt like drinking bile or extreme backwash, and we both almost puked. It turns out that it was from a Christmas two years ago. Enough said.
FUCKING A, I also have to write what I got for Christmas from my grandmother, if I get anything (I’m not present-oriented this year; I honestly couldn’t care less if I got gifts—I want to see EDawg and the triad and Derek and Liz), because she always gets me the most bizarre, not-fitting gifts, like boys’ humongous tee shirts because she thinks I still “like to wear baggy clothes” even though I’m not fat anymore, or frilly fleecy pink, well, fleece jackets from Old Navy that are either two sizes too small or (more often) too sizes too large. Or ugly children’s jewelry. Or pretzels from BJs. Just kidding about that last part, but serious about the BJs part; she shops there.
Oh yeah, and I’m gradually feeling more and more sick to the stomach as the day goes by. I think that steel stomach thing is wrong. Great. That’s likely why I feel anti-game for going to 1290. Fuck.
PS I love Sufjan Stevens’ album, “Illinoise.” Most especially track 3. It’s one of those songs that can make anything, even watching cousins play GHII, seem not just nice, but beautiful.
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