everything is everything
September 24. 2000
the 'rents brings some gifts:
this is to show the world just how much food my mother heaps upon me
you will never see this kitchen look this clean when I'm around it
I've been really getting into "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" within the last week. I taped it from a girl I lived with in the dorms last year, with some Nine Inch Nails on the other side, and since then had sat in my car collecting dust. Maybe it's the urban environment that makes me hunger for that kind of music, the rhythum of the traffic and people.
I listen to it really, obnoxiously loud. I've found that rap is the only music I can listen to at high volumes. Any other kind of music (even Enya) eventually just annoys and grates on me. I like the bass up so high I can feel it reverberate through each of my internal organs. Windows down. It's just...feel good music. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel cool.
I had to work almost this entire weekend, but my parents wanted to see me, and I needed some things at home. The only available window of time was this morning before I had to be at work at noon.
I didn't get to sleep until around 3:30, and set my alarm for 9 am, with enough time to get up and shower and clean up a bit before their arrival at 10. I awoke at 9:48 to the sound of retarded woodpecker doorbell. I can't imagine how I manage to turn off my very loud alarm and go right back to sleep and not remember it, but I have, and often.
I let my parents in, they came bearing food and tools and clay for my ceramics class. My mother filled my fridge and freezer to capacity, and, to my embarassment, washed the dirty dishes while I was in the shower. My Dad vacuumed the carpet.
"I miss talking to you," my mother said during breakfast. "All the little things, you know, whenever I think of them, and you're not there for me to tell them to you. Every time I get on the phone I can never remember everything I wanted to say to you." She laughed offhandedly. "I should write them down so I can remember." My mother is the queen of lists. There are lists everywhere in our house: on post-it notes, on scraps of paper, stuck to the fridge, the counter tops, the cabinets.
I think my Dad has an obsession with this site. Nearly everytime I talk to him, whether in person or on the phone, he mentions it at least once. "You said such and such on your site" and "I read such and such in your journal". Not that I mind as much as I used to, it's just odd, and I'm still trying to figure out why he's so interested. I know it's more than just the "I'm his daughter" reason. My mom reads this site too, but I think it's more of a passing interest for her. Maybe he's trying to figure me out. I don't know.
Die, Yuppie Scum.
Today, at work:
Two yuppie mothers with, surprise, young whiny children. The two yuppie mothers make a massive order including about 5 drinks, several pastries and sandwiches. As I am getting their order (at this point it was very busy, there was a huge line behind them, and I was a little frazzled), one of the mothers mentioned offhandedly,
"My daughter dropped one of those bottled drinks."
I stopped. "Is the bottle broken?"
"Yes. All over the floor."
I had been very busy. I didn't even hear the bottle drop. It's a good thing she told me. How nice of her. Not even a "I'm sorry" or an offer to pay for the drink (which I would have refused, but it was the gesture, you know?).
So, I immediately get the mop, dustpan, worried about people slipping and small children getting cut by broken class. While I am doing this, the woman continues to ask me for things, a napkin, or a fork. CAN'T YOU SEE I'M A LITTLE FUCKING BUSY CLEANING UP YOUR MESS?!?
If working here has taught me anything, it's that the mass of humanity are just dumb, even the demographic of humanity that flocks to Barnes & Noble.
One Year Ago:
all writings, (c) 1999-2000, BRR