Topic sentences are not easy for me. The whole, main idea-->support-->support-->support writing structure gets boring
real quick.
Today, I'm just going for what I'm thinking. And as soon as I say everything I want to say about one subject, I'm moving on to the next one.
My computer is growling. It's an old computer. I bought it one month before I moved to Texas in 2002. The monitor is not the original monitor. It's actually older than the rest of the computer.
I miss living in Texas. Right now, I could be wearing shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt. Right now I'm wearing jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt.
Yesterday, the sun was bright. It was fighting a losing battle with the ground. You could tell it wanted to do its job and warm up the pavement, but that tricky Boston earth wouldn't rise above the low-40s. It really sucks to be cold.
I'm glad I have a house in this weather. I imagine I'd rather not wake up than sleep outside in last night's temperatures. Were I homeless, I'd definitely move to the South.
Southern people are a joy to wait on, even if a lot of them tip like they were born in Europe. Today, I had a woman call me honey or sweety or darlin' every time I passed her table. She was probably my mom's age, and I kept thinking, I wonder if my mom comes off as this much of a badass to total strangers. Because in my mind, my mom is one of the biggest badasses on the planet.
Funny story about my mom. Actually, here are a couple of stories.
My mom goes to mass every day. She says the f-word almost as often as she says the Hail Mary. That's where I got it. And I'm fucking proud of it.
My junior year of high school, I became something of a truant. Officially, I missed something like 61 days. But even that doesn't account for the days on which I left after homeroom.
So one day, I cut school with my friend Sarah. After seeing a movie or walking around Cambridge or driving to Rhode Island or hiking through the Blue Hills or some other distraction, we ended up at my mother's house.
At about 3 p.m., as Sarah and I were sitting on the porch, my mom pulled into the driveway. She and my dad were returning from one of his chemo sessions.
"Hi Tom, how was school" my mom, named Mickie, said as she got out of the car.
"Good," I said, still nervous that I might not be in the clear.
"Yeah, do you have a lot of homework?"
"No, I got it all done during study period."
I'm clear. And then.
"Lie to me MOTHA FUCKA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!," my mother bellowed, suspended in midair (ala "The Matrix") before lunging at my throat.
Apparently, a
my homeroom teacher had called my house to find out why I wasn't in school for two weeks. I don't really remember much of what happened after that. Sarah jumping into her car and speeding away comes vaguely to mind. But other than that, complete blackout.
Anyway, Mickie flipped out a lot. And most of the time, it was pretty funny. Hell, often enough it might've been deserved.
My mom's a crazy Irish broad. And, as her son, that's the sort of thing that only I can say about her. Because when I say she's a crazy Irish broad, I'm really saying that half of me is a crazy Irish broad. And whoa, this broad is way crazier than his mom will ever be.
Family's great for grounding. Helping you to see everything that you are. Everything that you're not. Delusions go out the door when you're with people who changed your diaper. And, in my family, having changed your diaper often affords someone the right to discuss certain aspects of your anatomy with total strangers. As if they were discussing the common cold or a meatloaf recipe. In front of your face.
These days my thoughts are rushing faster than my fingers can process them. Big ideas, clear as the ocean in St. Thomas from a distance, become fuzzy as I rush to write them down.
Rushing things is a big problem for me. My friend Nina thinks that I always go for whatever is going to bring the most happiness at the moment. I think she's right.
Sometimes, when I go for too much too soon, I make the mistake of thinking I care about something more than I do. And sometimes, when I let something go to soon, I realize too late that it's all I care about it.
Love is exciting. It's a race, a car chase, that never ends until one of the cars runs out of gas. I like the pursuit, and it's torture. Not but. And.
Sometimes you see something in someone else that you don't like about yourself. Sometimes you see something in them that you love about yourself. And sometimes you see something in someone else that you really love about them. That's a good feeling.
Family is a great mirror. But it's a foregone mirror. Like, of course you see yourself. Even better is finding a mirror in a friend or stranger, stumbling onto a pond in the middle of a desert.
I'm prone to cliches.
I freak out about my inability to put off procrastinating.
I like my body. A lot. As in sometimes I see my belly in the mirror and think, helllllo sexy.
I avoid the right conflicts and embrace the wrong ones.
The things I put on here sometimes shock people. Which is funny, because a lot of what I refuse to post would shock exactly no one else.
I'm a biiiiiitch when I'm tired. I was tired all weekend at work.
I need to change something in my diet. I think I fart too much.
I need to remember to take the Green Line out to Woodlands this week and run back to the city. Learning how to run hills is as important as building up endurance to run a lotta miles.
I can't wait to finish my first marathon.
I'm done writing my thoughts for today.
