Friday, November 07, 2003

Apparently I can survive without writing every day. Hmm. If you call this surviving.

It's a good thing I took some notes today.

Weakness does not storm the gates, but drips in along the eaves of comfort.

I'm still adjusting to living at home. Which is understandable, seventeen months is a long time when you're still young and foolish.

The other day I woke up. My mom was already home from work for some reason. This wasn't incredibly zany, since it was three in the afternoon. I stumble out all groggy and bleary, and she says jokingly, "Good morning! Would you like some breakfast?"

I muttered something unintelligible and stumbled to the shower. Nothing like a warm shower to wake you up on a cold afternoon.

Whatever I had muttered must have sounded like a resounding "Yes!" to my mom, because when I came out of the shower there was a big plate of eggs, some carne asada steak, and a glass of juice set out on the table.


While I was eating breakfast, my mom asked, "I'm doing a load of dark clothes, do you have any you need washed."

"Mmph hmm," I tried to answer.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." I guess she understood that I had meant "yes" again, because she went to my room, grabbed my hamper, and started doing my laundry.

Super sweet.

If things keep going like this, I'll soon achieve my life-long dream of weighing three hundred pounds and wearing un-wrinkled clothes.

RIP Matt the Fish

My little brother, Luis, greeted me at the door last night with a big hug and some sad news: "Matt died."

For a brief moment I felt a surge of panic, since I know about four Matts. Then I remembered. "Oh, your fish? Where is he, is he still in the tank?"

"Naw, I took him outside."

I was a bit thrown off by how calm he appeared to be taking everything. In fact, he was acting consoling towards me. He showed me where he had put the fish outside. It was by where we had buried his other fish. I went and got the shovel.

"They were good pets," Luis said, more fondly than anything, as I buried Matt the fish. Then he told me about the time that Lita had stolen Matt's share of the fish-food one morning while Matt was still asleep.

I had laughed, and Luis had laughed too.

Water Cooler Banter

Shannon and I were talking at work the other day, and somehow the conversation turned to "people confessing their love."

"I don't think I've ever actually confessed my love to anyone," I admitted.

"Well, you should!" she scolded playfully, "Make someone else feel good for once!"

Touche'. "Eh, I'll think about it," I promised.

She wasn't convinced.

Neither was I.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

Sleep is for the Weak.

This is my 5 am after having been up all night.

For most of you daywalkers, this is your 10:30 am, and you probably slept at some point. Probably at night.

I'm weary, but I've noticed some dust settling on my blog.

Boxing Day

I am not entirely moved in yet. Or out, for that matter. A quarter of my library, my computer desk, and my cat, Rorshak, are still hanging out with Mai and Paige.

I must finish soon, but it has been difficult.

Luis helped me pack, and I broke down the rules of packing for him.

"Luis, this box here, this is the essential box. Everything that I will need as soon as I get home goes in here." I threw in mostly toiletries. I scoured around looking for other things I absolutely needed, and did not find anything. My "essential" box had hardly anything in it. "Time to move on to the "Crap" box," I continued. "This box is for stuff that we probably won't need for a while."

The crap box filled up very, very, quickly. I had to grab a couple other boxes.

Luis would grab stuff and stuff and ask "Essential box?"

I would answer, "Uh, no, crap box."

And that's how it went.

So now I have boxes of stuff lying around and I've forgotten what's in them but I know that whatever is in there I don't need and I'm afraid to open them again.

I'm really happy right now having nothing in my room but a bed, some clothing, some books, and my laptop. Internet connection would be nice, but I guess I'll just have to deal with walking over to the family computer.

But I'm going to have to open those boxes soon. Perhaps I should just throw them away, and pretend that they were all lost in a fire or something and I was forced to start anew.

I will keep my fire escape ladder. I never know when I'll play laser tag at Garrett's house and have to use it to climb out the second story window again.

Get Naked and Start the Revolution

There was no midnight showing of Matrix. There was a seven am showing, however. Brian Y., my older brother Miguel, and I made it in time, but the theater was pretty full. The only seats left were in the front row. I was all for it, but Miguel and Brian wisely figured that this was not a movie to be seen from the front row.

We exchanged our tickets for the eight am showing. We then walked over to Krispy Kreme and got donuts and hot chocolate.

We ate the donuts and drank the chocolate in the relative comfort of the movie theater.

We did not discuss sordid international love affairs.

We all enjoyed the film.

Back to the Grinding Stone

I work in a few hours. I'm going to go to sleep and then do that. But first, I'm going to ignore some more boxes.

Life is good.

Monday, November 03, 2003

Well, I really don't know how things are going to go from here on out.

I've just moved back in with my parents. I love my family, so it isn't really a problem for me.

I just know that I no longer have my cable modem, and I am going to have to adjust to not being able to post at 6:00 am in my underwear. We'll see what happens.

Halloween was awesome. I'll probably elaborate once I have the pictures.

But, I owe Jaden a story about Luis. I'll have to post a picture of him as well.

A few nights ago I was over here at my parent's house grabbing some dinner. Ingryd and I were just sitting around talking for a bit after, and Luis was up, too. He had school the next day, so he said "Goodnight" and went off to bed.

I happened to look in the fish tank to check up on my sister's dwarf frogs. They were fine, kicking to the top of the tank and then sinking to the bottom like they always do.

But I noticed one of the two fish was not so much swimming happily as it was stuck up in the filter.

The fish belonged to Luis. He had named them Matt and Lita, after two wrestlers from the WWE.

I pondered for a moment. I had a couple of options. I could tell him now or tell him later. The more I thought of it, I knew I had to tell him immediately. I wasn't going to be like that parent who tells their kid they took the family pet to live on a farm. Because parents who do that aren't trying to make things easier on the kid. They're just trying to make things easier on themselves.

I walked into Luis' room. He hadn't fallen asleep yet. I hesitated, then said, "Luis."

"Yeah?" he asked.

I paused again. "One of your fish has died."

"What?!" Luis leaped out of bed and ran over to the fish tank. I followed him over. He stuck his face up against the glass trying to see in.

"It looks like he got stuck in the filter, Luis."

"She." Luis said.

"What?" I asked.

"That's Lita." he answered. "That's Lita." Then he started crying.

He ran back into his room and threw himself on his bed. He buried his face into his pillow and kept sobbing.

I followed him again, but just stood in the doorway of his room.

Then my mom heard him crying and came over to ask what the matter was.

"One of his fish died," I explained.

She went into mother-comforting mode and started to go over to Luis. "Mom, please just leave him alone for a minute." I asked.

She ignored me and went over to Luis and tried to talk to him. "Don't worry, we'll get you a new fish."

Damn. I was afraid she was going to say that.

Luis started crying even harder.

Of course. After all, if for instance, your brother died and while you were grieving someone said to you, "Don't worry, we'll get you a new brother," would you think that would make you feel better?

So why would you say that about a kid's pet? I don't understand it.

I told my mom not to say that to him, that I it would only upset him more. So of course, she said it at least three more times. I gave up trying to get her to just let him be and walked out into the backyard. I got a shovel and propped it up by the back door.

I scooped out Lita and wrapped her in a napkin. I placed the napkin on the counter and walked back to Luis' room. He was still lying in bed, but his sobs had reduced to quiet sniffling. "Luis," I said.


"Come with me."

"What? Why?"

"We're going to bury your fish."

Luis didn't want to at first. He told me that he didn't think he could do it. I told him that he wouldn't have to do anything, I would take care of it, but that I thought he should be there. He reluctantly agreed, and came out with me.

I found a spot in the corner of the yard and started to dig. Lita was a small fish, so a few shovel-fulls was enough. Luis wanted to see the fish, so I unwrapped it and showed it to him. He examined it solemnly. I placed the fish in the hole and started filling it back up.

He looked down at the little plot of earth. "She was the best one," Luis said, his version of a eulogy, I guess. "She was always the best one."

I remained silent, but thought to myself, "Well said."

Few fish ever receive such high praise, and even fewer more honest.