kelland

Everything is for sale.

Tomorrow is my sister's birthday. She will be 20. It makes me a little sad. It is one year further away from days on our grandma's back porch, pretending we were superheroes, her pulling me down the sidewalk in a red wagon, always asking for rubberbands from the mailman, pretending Coke was whiskey and we were important celebrities in bars with hot dates. Shannon means the world to me. Lately I have been a lousy sister. I didn't buy her anything for her birthday. I am taking her on a little shopping trip Friday instead with a large chunk of my paycheck that should be going in the bank. But I still feel like I neglect her. She has had some health issues lately and is having surgery next week. I'm not even going to be in town when she's in the hospital. While that's not my choice, it only further exemplifies my undependable nature. I am never home. I am a stranger to my family.

Monday was my only day off this week. I didn't really spend it doing anything worthwhile. All I remember is going to my grandparents for dinner and then coming back later to watch the season premiere of Six Feet Under. This next part is somewhat pathetic, but a small part of me will die with that show's concluding episode. That is how much that show means to me. That is how much it moves me. I wish everyone could watch that show and see it the way I do and feel it the way I do. This is coming from someone who never watches television. It always makes me re-examine myself and my place.

Yesterday I went swimming at a friend's house. A friend from work. I got sunburnt on my back and shoulders and legs. I look hideous, but I had fun. I just wanted to relax, but as you might know, not very mellow teenaged girls exist nowadays. I was lounging on a floatation device and they were trying to play a game. They were wearing string bikinis and I was wearing a swimsuit that fully covered any desirable part of my body. I think I grew up too fast.

I have to go away for a week on Sunday and I really don't want to go. It depresses me to no end. Please make it stop.

My job is lonely and boring. I sit for six hours and when no one's calling, I have nothing to do. So I think about shit. And I get sad about shit. I start thinking about people I miss. People I wish would visit me. People who probably wouldn't think to visit me. In that respect, I really don't like my job. It allows me to wallow in my sorrow.

Oh. I don't even know anymore. I fucking love Manic Street Preachers. There's some zest. Swallow it up while you can.