Chuckie & I got up @ 3:30AM to shop. It was actually less eventful and chaotic than I imagined--this is a very good thing, I believe.
Yesterday I told mom that Grammy called. We talked about things for a bit. She says that her issues with her mom & her dad (not her stepdad--my bad) may be unresolved, but she doesn't think they'll get any better, and she doesn't think it's worth trying.
Her choice, so I'm fine with that. As long as she knows what she's getting herself into. I feel like that was a conversation I was wary of having, but it turned out okay. It could have been much more emotional & uncomfortable, and I'm glad it wasn't.
Speaking of deep conversations, you wouldn't believe how genial Chuckie & I can be to each other at 4 o'clock in the morning! My goodness. We talked a lot about college stuff--as you can tell, it was intense. (just kidding).
Paper writing, perhaps more shopping, and dinner plans for today. I'm pretty pumped about one of the three--take your pick. heh.
Time to rest and relax for now. Some strange part of my side is killing, but I'm assuming it's because my body doesn't like the ratio of hours of sleep to hours per day that I've got goin' on lately. (3:48 = not so nice!)
hasta luego.
I was going to come up with some witty caption. Alas, it is simply too early. I'll make up for it some other time!
I kind of felt like this today, and I totally look and feel like this every time we have a fire drill after I've fallen asleep. haha. I'm awesome that way.
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Oh, I finally found the poem I like so well. I feel like it describes my dad a lot. It stirred a lot of emotion in me when we read this in class. Really, the first stanza is the most pertinent.
Those Winter Sundays
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
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