"Don't talk ... don't talk to me... But don't talk to me at all ... I don't want to hear paparazzi talk to me or anybody I know ... and tell everybody never talk to anyone that anyone knows ... don't talk to themselves .. DON'T TALK EVER AGAIN." -Kanye West
***
Tessie and I were eating frozen yogurt and she said, "Yah. It's like that Kanye quote. It's something like, 'Don't talk. Don't talk to my family. Don't even talk to yourself. Just don't talk.'" We laughed and discussed using the quote on a pack of annoying 12-year-olds. Then we made our way around a T.J. Maxx, being hoodlums, flipping over hourglasses and putting on awkwardly low-cut aprons. In Staples, the illusion of productivity captivated us for like an hour and a half. The record store made my day and the kiddie rides that cost 75cents made Tessie's. Then I dropped her off at home. By the time I made it home from Rutland, I had come down from my day out and so I went to bed.
Maybe if I didn't sleep until noon, I'd actually want to do something during the rest of the day. Other than that, I've officially lost control of the mess my room has become, I've been subsisting on chicken nuggets and Fruity Pebbles, and I've decided that I don't really want to go to Saint Mike's because I'm scared I'll be walking into a bigger, more free GMVS.
I want to want to do things but I get too busy not doing things to remember that.
In 9th grade, Lexi and I were in Europe. I had to read some book for science class about Einstein and the theory of relativity. Over and over again, I would get confused about what that was so I'd ask Lexi. I must've asked her ten times: "Lexi, I'm so confused. Can you explain this?" "It's the same thing as before, Sammi." "I-I know. I just... forgot." After going over it, again, Lexi would go back to doing her own school work, only to be called back a half hour later to reexplain the same idea that had somehow gotten lost inside my brain.
That's sort of how I feel like everything is now: I forget and then the Lexi in my head reminds me and brings everything to the forefront of my mind and then for some reason I'm crying. I wish the Lexi in my head could explain to Becca why I was crying when she handed me a bag of Milkyways, Pretzel M&Ms, and a Spiderman balloon. I certainly couldn't explain it. Or why I was tipping everyone like I was trying to buy my way into heaven. Or why we were shouting profanities at random people on the highway. (The best of which included: Fuck you and your mustache, Do you fuck cows?, and Nice fucking face. These are obviously hurtful things, which is why I'm glad that our windows were up.) Or why I kept going long after the game had lost its initial luster and Becca's interest had waned.
I wish I could explain the theory of relativity, but it has a lot to do with things I don't really understand. That doesn't stop the Lexi in my head from trying over and over again to present the idea in simpler and simpler terms until it sticks. Now she's speaking like a caveman, trying to explain that even if I'm running North at 5mph, the Southbound train I'm riding at 55mph will still be carrying me South. That to people outside the train I'm stupidly traveling 50mph when I could easily be going 55mph, but to me, I'm only going 5mph and the end of the train is fast approaching.
I don't know why this is accurate, but it is.
Had to ask Lexi if my math was right. No Lexi. You can never be in one of my blog posts again.
The other day, I was in the shower and I thought to myself, Are you there God? It's me: Margaret Thatcher. Then I was washing shampoo out of my hair and I realized that I am not Margaret Thatcher. Out loud, I said, "Oh my god." And that's the kind of week it's been.
I spent an afternoon bitching about teenage boys with a teenage boy (?????). Hobey and I also talked about how sneezes always come in pairs and children have no idea what it means to be considerate, and the ones that are considerate, don't understand how that makes them different. He told me about how a snowboarder had broken his leg when he was five; I told him about the snowboarder that had run me over, giving me eighteen stitches, when I was seven. Then he threatened to steal my car. And that's how I made a friend.
Other than that, I'd like to discuss this song.
It's the official lyric video, so the words are correct. I'm just slightly confused by the lines: "Lay all your laundry on the bed/then I'll lay in it instead." Like, I'm not trying to kink-shame here, I'm just wondering why you would dump out your laundry basket onto your bed. If it's clean, it's probably already folded. If it's dirty, why do you want dirty clothes on your bed. I'm just like ??????. Oh. Wait. Breaking news. He's telling her to strip. As in take her clothes off. Those are her laundry. I understand now. I'm so sorry.
This video is important to me
'Cause I'm sleeping in the back of a taxi I'm screaming from my bedroom window Even if its gonna kill me
Woke up this morning early before my family From this dream where she was trying to show me How a life can move from the darkness She said to get better
So I put a bullet where I shoulda put a helmet And I crash my car cause I wanna get carried away That's why I'm standing on the overpass screaming at myself,
Hi Lexi! I know you live vicariously through my blog posts so I'll give you a quick update.
I drove to Waterbury to meet Shannon and Becca last tuesday so we could all ride in Shannon's car to practice. Shannon was late and upset but Becca and I quickly changed that with our puns and unnecessary overuse of expletives. At practice we played softball, which I know you, like, hate or something, but it was fun for me. (Sorry, softball practice probably isn't the most fun part of your indirect experience of my life.) Then Shannon drove back to my car, I drove home and then it was like 10:30 by the time I showered and wasted a good chunk of time on tumblr. I went to bed, woke up at like 5am for some godforsaken reason. No. It was the birds. They're annoying. I open my window at night, hoping it will cool off my room, but in the morning, the birds are like, "HELLO YES GOOD MORNING. WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BAKEY." and I'm like, "I swear." (I never really know what I'm swearing for or to whom I'm swearing, but generally there's a lot of cursing involved.) So I made lunch and went to work. It was hot and my feet and my scalp got sunburned and I had to work with the mean girl who I don't think likes me very much and I just kind of wanted to scream. (I didn't, but that's beside the point.)
Then I had to drive home after work. I forgot my sneakers at the house, so I had to stop back at home (even though I had already packed because I'm actually missing my brain. It's a real problem and if you happen to find my logical thought process, let me know because I'd really like it back.) So, I get home at like 10pm. Then my sister dragged a crying me out of the driver's seat and helped me carry all my stuff inside. After clearing miscellaneous items that someone had carelessly thrown on my bed, I sat on its edge. My mother said goodnight to me and my sister, who has gradually distanced herself from me, initially getting her own bed when she was seven or eight and then recently moving into the downstairs room of our house, stood at the foot of my bed. Then I asked if she wanted to stay in my room that night, she nodded and my sister and I returned to our previously assigned sides of the bed. It really wasn't that different from before: I was wedged into the corner where my bed meets the wall and a vent incessantly blows cold air. My sister on the other hand was splayed, laying horizontally and kicking me regularly. Unlike when I was a kid, I was not going to put up with being kicked and forced into a crevice, so I swung my sleeping-like-the-dead sister's feet toward the foot of the bed, let her have what most people would consider an obscene amount of pillows (she just really likes having a lot of pillows, I don't know man) and decided that she could just be my pillow. It worked out fine and my neck really hurt in the morning and I couldn't really sleep because I was thinking about how my father was going to tear down the walls in my house, which I could literally already see the wall and ceiling joists of.
We woke up to my father using power tools. We hung around for a bit, helping, organizing, and cleaning, before my father released us. My sister and I got into the car, drove to see our grandmother who just had surgery and was staying at our aunt's house before making our way to the cape. (Because our kitchen is currently out of order, my aunt made us breakfast.) I had my mother's car, which is fine because it's not that hard to drive except the brakes are really annoying and the power steering is always in overdrive so you have to hold the wheel really steady and basically fuck my mom's car. So I drove in the pouring rain to the cape in my mom's car. Eventually we got to our friend's house in Mashpee. My sister and I hung out for a bit and made sandwiches. We had our water escapades on the lake. We went tubing and whenever my sister was about to fall off, I just let go and fell into the water so Tori, who was driving, would stop the boat. We had fun out on the boat and on the jetski and on the trampoline. We had awkwardness with Taylor and Tori's parents because our parents weren't there. I got the third-degree from adults asking about my senior year and what I was doing in August. Then we tried to leave before the thunder storms.
We didn't miss the thunder storms. I drove my sister to her softball tournament in Swansea. It was pouring and we went around the same rotary at least three times before I finally pulled into a parking lot, yanked the car out of gear, ripped up the emergency brake, and decided we were just going to sit there for a minute. Eventually, I asked my sister which exit we were taking and then we were on our way. It was raining a lot and when we finally got to the hotel, we found out that you have to be 21 to check in to a hotel room. After about a half hour of talking to the lady behind the desk and calling a mother from my sister's team to vouch for us, I crawled into my bed and refused to move. Then my sister said she was hungry so I took her and a girl on her team, Lindsey (but everyone calls her Linny-Pop or Popper or Pop and she's such a worthwhile human being), to a late lunch. I ordered chicken piccata and my sister got a calzone. The Greek man behind the counter said that I had a pretty smile and that school was important because I never want to be dependent on a man. They had the best rootbeer I've had in a long time and after navigating a crowded street in the pouring rain and dropping my phone in a puddle, we were back at the hotel. Then I was interrogated by parents about my senior year and what I am doing in August. (I'm not sure if you're noticing a pattern here, but I certainly did so I didn't really leave my room. Thanks to not only God but also Jesus for the FX playing all the Marvel superhero movies.)
When my sister and I walk across the street or through a parking lot, we generally hold hands and it's gotten to the point where I'm wondering at what age she'll stop letting me hold her hand so casually. Do you know what I mean? What 13-year-old girl wants to be seen holding hands with her big sister? And so that's generally what I'm thinking about when I'm not sleeping: my sister will eventually stop thinking I'm cool and that by holding my hand she'll be seen as less cool. I don't know.
The team went 3-0 on Saturday and then lost in the semi's on Sunday; in between I spent half the night staring at the ceiling listening to fireworks and thinking about I am the Messenger. On Sunday afternoon, we took some of the girls out for frozen yogurt and then my sister started crying because she didn't want to go home. Ya know how my mom calls you "Lexi-Lou" sometimes? Well, my sister's friend Lexie is the original Lexie-Lou and Lexie's mother Cherie, who regularly adopts my sister, called and asked if my sister and I could spend the night at her house so my sister would stop crying. My father begrudgingly agreed and after following Cherie home through a ridiculous amount of traffic that had me putting the car in and out of first gear more times than I can count, my sister and I shared a bed again, watched Zoey 101, saw fireworks, ate hotdogs, jumped on a trampoline, lit sparklers, and drank pink lemonade.
Then we went home. I got a haircut; my sister got her cavities filled, cried about not wanting to play baseball, and then played baseball. I drove to Vermont, hiked up the stairs to the front door and then to my room, which was a total mess so I turned around and took a shower before dealing with the mess of dirty and clean clothes all over the floor and in my bag. Then I just went to bed and decided I would deal with my mess later. I made plans with Becca to go to the mall. We went and I got superhero things. Then I cried when Becca's Spiderman kite wouldn't fly; she sent me home and told me not to go to practice.
And I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to get here, but I just wanted to tell you, through my entirely plot-based blogpost that lacks metaphor and theme, that I have just as much figured out as you do. That I give a shout out to your cousin who thinks I'm a good writer, though a bit angsty. That I miss you and wish I could call you more often.
Other than that, here are some good things.
Gracie made matching necklaces and bracelets for her and I. I have Arctic Monkeys records. I almost peed myself watching 12-year-old girls sing the "Baby shark do-do do-do-do-do..." song and also the "Hi, my name is Joe and I work in a button factory..." song. I don't know if you know that one, but it has always held a very special place in my heart. My sister went around called everyone a "bag egg" in spanish. Gracie told everyone that chips are for chumps and then declared everyone but me a chump. We met an old man with a lot of rambling to offer about intelligence. My retainers still fit after three days of not wearing them (Please don't tell me mom). I made an egg sandwich for dinner last night, when I had eaten Milanos as a main course the night before. (Progress is progress, Lex and unless you're willing to get your goddamn license and drive up here to cook for me, you can just shut up.) Becca and I can sing Love is and Open Door perfectly (except for actually hitting the notes). I've watched Pride and Prejudice like five times in the past two weeks. Poptarts don't really go bad. My sister likes The Wombats and The Arctic Monkeys. They are going to make more X-men movies. Tumblr is a thing. My sister still sucks her thumb. The monsters in my closet, under my bed, and in the basement have yet to decide that I'm annoying enough to do away with. I just remembered the "Do you wanna go to the movies?" joke. You're not dead.
This man is real.
So is David Boyd.
This picture exists.
And this is what I wanted to say to my father when he told me donuts are for fat people; instead I just said that I'm definitely a fat person. Never forget that donuts are real.
Other than that:
Also this is the song I like:
He's all like: "Why am I so emotional? This is not a good look. Gain some self-control." And for some (unknown) reason I relate to that on a personal level. Friend, I need a donut.
Becca was sick and we were camping, attempting to retain body heat in our respective sleeping bags. It was around eleven and everyone else was heading to bed in a tent separate from ours. Becca's nose made disgusting noises as she tried to keep boogers inside her body with violent breaths. We laid on our stomachs, turning our heads to face one another. Becca's eyes were closed.
"Are you crashing?" I asked.
"What?" Her voice was small and nasally.
"Are you going to bed?"
"No," she sat up on her elbow. "We can talk."
A few minutes of conversation later, I asked Becca if she was there when I was doing my best to explain relationships to the other softball girls.
"The best friend thing?" she asked.
"Yeah. That."
"I only heard the end of it."
I paused, attempting to put the right words in the right order. "But best friend is so exclusive."
"I agree."
"It's like-- it's that-- I just..."
"You're my person," she said simply.
"Yeah. You're my person." Then we giggled at the prospect of being each other's "people."
Eventually we said goodnight.
Around three, I got up and went inside to go to the bathroom, trying to unzip and zip the tent quietly. When I came back, Becca was sitting up. I apologized for waking her and in between shivers and coughs, she explained that she couldn't sleep because she was cold and sick and definitely not enjoying this "camping" thing. I laughed and agreed, rezipping the tent. I climbed back into my sleeping bag, shimmied closer to her, and asked if she wanted to hear a story. She nodded and said, "Uh-huh," so I told her the story of the boy who could control other people's emotions, creating new, random plot points and talking slowly. Eventually her labored breaths became less frequent and I assumed she had fallen asleep. The night before a ski race, when I couldn't sleep, Lexi would be peacefully enjoying slumber, which was aggravating. But then I came up with a solution: I would match my breaths to Lexi's and eventually fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling of our tent, Becca half-snoring next to me, I knew I wasn't going to fall asleep. I tried matching my breaths to Becca's, but a sick Becca's breathing was too erratic and quick and so my plan was quickly foiled. I glared at the ceiling and the bugs bashing into the sides of our tent. Realizing I was cold, I slipped further into my sleeping bag, curling up as far down as was possible.
I must have fallen asleep, because Becca shaking me and saying my name definitely woke me up.
"Sammi, I can't sleep." She was shivering and she looked even more pale than she had all afternoon.
It was 4:13 in the morning and the initial anger that boiled in me cooled when Becca coughed and wiped her nose.
"Okay. Here. Give me your sleeping bag." She clambered out of her sleeping bag. I unzipped it fully and put in on the floor of our tent. Then I unzipped my sleeping bag all the way. Becca grabbed her pillow and curled up on her sleeping bag. I laid down next to her and threw my sleeping bag-turned-blanket over us. I assumed the role of big spoon without bitterness and Becca said, "Thank you, Sammi."
***
Becca sent me a message: "Fuck life and heat," going on to tell off the entire human race. Then I called her. I let her complain about everything for a good ten minutes. She paused to take a breath and then reported that she needed to pee. I laughed and said, "Me too." We both laughed and then I proposed a pee break. "I'm-I'm not gonna hang up, then when we come back we say hello."
"Okay."
Together we said, "3, 2, 1, BREAK!!"
We both came back shouting "HELLO?" into the phone.
Dear Lexi, I have to report that Becca has taken this song as her own. I have had no control over this.
