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.
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| This man is real. |
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| So is David Boyd. |
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| This picture exists. |
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.
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