somuchrain

The drive home the other night was sad, and I was a little drunk, and my books kept threatening to leap from their boxes in the trailer and fly up over the highway. There's got to be something symbolic in that, eh? So the first day I hung out with my father and that was lovely. I got on alright with Geraldine, the father's live-in-though-not-married-and-with-children-together-person which is sort of astounding. I re-read Richard II. It's still sort of muddied in my mind. There's a whole lot of things that I don't see motivation for. But whatever. The fuck do I know about Shakespeare? I'm sleeping on a blow-up mattress which, over the course of the night, deflates itself and needs to be pumped every few hours or I'll find myself mushed against the concrete floor of the basement. There's a bedroom available for a week or so, until Geraldine's sister from Dublin and her two wretchedly loud kids come and visit. Oh your romanticizers of some such Irish brogue need only spent two minuets with these three year olds from suburban Dublin to truly understand the meaning of the word nasal. Anyway, I'm sleeping in the basement which is cold and hard and not in the room available to me because I don't want to leave Nadja in the basement alone. Locking things in basements has sort of a bad rap where I come from. There are, however, carpenters and whatnot coming into the basement at 7am each morning and waking me up in the most embarassing of circumstances. They're building a room for the brother and sister to play in. I'd rather they just let me sleep, or, if need be, shoot me in the temple with their nail guns, than wake me up at 7am, but oh well. It wouldn't be home without being woken up in shitty circumstances at ungodly hours.

I've been playing soccer with Nadja in the yard, but he's got to be tied up as he runs away sometimes. In fact, he ran away the second morning when Andrew, my half-brother (what a stupid form of demarcation) opened the door to play with him. He's two, so I blame Geraldine. I had to run through the woods next to the Mass Pike to find him. I don't exercise much, cultivating the locked in a library look that I am. It sort of sucked, though now I feel a bit more like Indiana Jones which is fun. I need a whip.

It's unbelievable how similar everything looks here. I'll take pictures and put them online one huge house after another, all various shades of grey with newly planted trees pushing out of the dieing grass. Fucking depressing as all hell. There's a really lovely Indian woman next door though, with a lovely dog that likes Nadja but isn't used to other dogs and so is scared of his enthusiasm and wriggles around on the ground like a worm. Cute. As. Hell.

I called Tara to wish her goodbye and a happy birthday the first day home. She was going to come out and see us before we all left but forgot. It was an awkward and irritating conversation the end result of which is my now being aware that I owe $800 to the cafe I rented a flat in last winter. I've no idea what for but for some reason it sounds right. It's a good thing I moved out of state as I've not a clue when I'm going to be able to pay that back... yesterday was a bit shite, but I'm in an oddly good mood at the moment, perhaps due to a walk in the nature reserve down the end of the road, but more likely due to the six pack of my father's beer I'm most of the way through. I'm sure depressing wank will come.