So I’m sitting in my room last night, grumpy as hell, right? More news is trickling in about Uncle R, and it’s not good. Aunts and cousins are getting to see him and are reporting back. My mother is not going. My father is trying to send me out to the bank after dark, knowing full well I can’t see well enough to safely navigate busy intersections. My appetite for food has gone with the wind, while my appetite for punishment, shown in a run on a day I needed to take off, was wide open.
I chatted with Michael. I miss him and I love him but I missed my chance to go to Chapel Thrill (or so I thought), so I’ll be seeing him at Christmas. How many more months is that? He’s threatening to call the apartment and wake up everybody just so we can chat (and so he can hear me laugh, of course), and I’m reminded again of the slow pace of life here that has everyone in bed by 20:30 on a Saturday night.
Then Hannah chirped up. Hannah, who is never online until about 01:00, comes online just before 22:00. Her and Will-yum are going to Chapel Thrill Sunday evening through Monday evening. Would I like to come?
Michael’s a dirty fucking bum and I love him to death.
Hell yes, I want to go to the Thrill. Shit happens, though, and I’m not holding my breath, particularly since my mother got a call from an aunt last night around 23:00. I am packing my bag, though.