Crying Baby Airlines

Flying west, I’m never quite sure if the plane is descending or the mountains are rising up to greet me. Stopping at Phoenix, of course, means both cases are true at once.

So, yeah, I’m back in California, ready to petition against my current academic ineligibility (they have a thing against part-time students, I think) and winch myself back up to where I feel comfortable making various pressure-laden decisions. My grandfather has a big ol’ tumor sitting on his pulmonary artery; I’m sad, and don’t particularly feel like blogging much about it. If it’s any comfort, though, I’ve imported all the old blogger entries and am slowly categorizing and posting them into the archives.

Hey, and since I’ve been feeling altogether too much like 14 years old lately, was my school district the only one to be infested by kids who erased gaping sores onto the backs of their hands? I tried it once, and got about two strokes in before realizing it was not only a stupid, ugly form of self-mutilation, but a hideously boring one as well. Perhaps a greater streak of self-hatred would have helped.

Comments

  1. Tinka wrote:

    You did WHAT to your hand?
    And – more important – sorry to hear about your grandfather. It may read as a throwaway comment, but I’m too far away from you to … I don’t know.. make you muffins, give you a hug and other more worthwhile ways to show you how sorry I am .. *sighs*

  2. Rasmus wrote:

    I’m with Tinka on that one. Why don’t you just say: fuck it. And move back here for free hugs ‘n’ muffins?

  3. G wrote:

    We also (in Montgomery AL and Miami both) erased away the skin of our hands and arms. Cutting letters into the skin of your forearm was also popular. The strange thing, upon thinking back on it, is that it wasn’t about the cutting, but about the scar. Never one for delayed gratification, I soon lost interest.

  4. yami wrote:

    thanks, guys… next time I make muffins I’ll think of you

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