e mërkurë, 8 gusht 2007

high water marks

tues aug 7 - 8:38 EST
I've been vertical since 4am pacific time. Already bent by my mom's chronic lateness, I find myself spinning the tires of her ford focus (not going for cool points here) on the way to the airport.

Now I'm sitting on a humid couch in a humid New Hampshire. The crickets feel like nitrous. I'm still trying to see straight after I've left the diner as my thoughts are clouded by copious amounts of grease and sugar. Fried Clams with the gritty bellies intact only to be polished off with a solid root-beer float. I think that spending time with my blood is like an unwritten excuse to practice what it means to be unhealthy at the core. My mom is being her usually witty self on the plane and I'm already working my mood into something that resembles dread and homecoming all in one. My mom quit smoking in january yet here I am being scolded to shut my mouth and just go buy a pack of merit 100's for her at the Texaco station. We are here visiting my aunt who just got out of a rehab center for a combination stroke and kidney failure. I find myself paying attention to every feature in her face. The war. The high water marks. She tells her grandson the best thing that happened to her today was sitting in a chair. My little nephew trying to remember what my uncle was like when he was alive. Me wondering if i'll have time on this trip to visit my dads grave site. Me wondering when i'll grab my cousin and hit the nearest bar. Literally as I write this my cousins cat is dragging its asshole across the mustard linoleum tile. The revulsion will not be televised. Maybe it's as uncomfortable as me. I take another half assed pull from a tepid ale.

On a feathery note, the silver lining here is a new mini-golf mega-mountain that just opened up down the road. You bet your sweet ass I'm there.

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