This was originally posted on April 9, 2003. Because of technical difficulties (on my part), this post was unviewable. I'm now reposting it. Why? Because I'm God like that. =)

6:50 p.m.

I need to order something for dinner. Since it's me all by my lonesome (heh...that sounds stupid) I'm not even gonna attempt to cook.

The house doesn't seem right without my mom around. It's just me, Zee-Zee, and Shortie. They don't talk back, though, when I talk to them, so it's pretty boring. Most kids would be all happy that their parent(s) were MIA, but I'm a little too close to my mom for that. The last time I had to stay here by myself over night was the entire last week my mema was alive. It's strange that it hasn't even been 4 months yet, because it feels like it's been so long ago.

Blah...I don't want to think about that. I'm already sad enough as it is because this house is so empty.

Well, let me get to ordering that food

***

4:26 p.m.

I do believe I could pimp smack my uncle right now. After my mom's surgery, she found out exactly what was wrong with her arm: her rotater cup was fully torn. The problem was fixed (so said the doctor) and she's now bandaged up. The downside of getting her arm fixed is the fact that she can't use it for 6 weeks. My uncle knows this.

My mom is afraid that uncle R.H., though he is unemployed and does nothing but sit at his house on his ass, watching TV, will not come over and help her out. She can't move her arm at all. Zero. Nilche. Well, I left the hospital this afternoon, took Capitol Circle around to my neck of the woods, and ventured to Talquinn, the place that supplies us with electricity. I paid them and was pulling out when my uncle called. We made small talk and all that. Then, I asked him, "You're going to go to the house to help mama out once she gets home, right?" He told me, "No, that's your job." I told him that I knew that and what I meant was during the day when I was at school. He said that he wasn't coming over at all and that I can take care of her. That pretty much ticked me off. It takes very little to set me off, then I blow up and all hell brakes loose. My voice got a little louder as I said, "Uncle R.H., I HAVE to go to school. You've gotta go over to the house to help her out." He replied, and was laughing, "You don't like school and you hardly ever go, so you can take care of her." Um, HELLO! Does this man not know that this thing called an "Attendence Policy" in which taking care of our mothers during school time is not particularly excusable? I mean, he totally pissed me off. I can't take much more time off from school because I'm doing bad enough as it is. Plus, I doubt they would excuse me for my reason for not coming to school. Besides, he's not doing a DAMN THING! He sits on his ass and watches shit on TV. Like helping my mom out is going to be a big fucking inconvience to him!

The more I think about it, the more pissed I get. I can't believe he won't go help his own sister out! It hasn't even been 4 months yet since mema (my grandmother on my mom's side) died, and who was ALWAYS by her side? My mom. Uncle R.H. and Uncle Earl came, but mama was there 24/7. She stayed the night with my mema, leaving me at home to take care of myself. My mom made all of the arrangements for mema. She's the one that has to take control of each situation that occurs within our family and work them out. She's the one that helps take care of uncle R.H., but he can't fucking bring his narrow ass 5 minutes down the road to help her out? FUCK NO!

See, that's what pisses me off the most.

I really got mad at him toward the end of our conversation. I felt like punching someone, but couldn't because I was driving. I yelled at him that I "...wasn't going to argue with him because I was driving. I'm pissed and I'm going to hang up. Don't call me back." Then, I hung up. After I did, I started banging on the steering wheel, almost crying because I got so mad. I haven't been this mad in a long time. I can't believe how much of a selfish jerk he's being.

Stupid asshole!

I gotta go now and calm down. Stupid people suck!

***

7:45 a.m.

Man, it's way too early to be up. I mean, I'm always up at 7:20 (if I'm not it means I'm staying home), but I'm usually not on the computer just chillin' at 7:20. Around this time on a normal day I'm usually throwing moose and gel into my hair, rushing to the bathroom to run my flat iron through the front parts of my hair, followed by adding a bit of makeup. As it is, I'm waiting for my flat iron to heat up. I'm not in a rush because most everything else I need to do is done.

I put the blame for this whole non rushed morning on the fact that my mom woke up at 5 a.m. She had to get her things together and wait on my uncle R.H. to come pick her up. She's having surgery on her arm this morning (in fact, she should be in surgery at this very moment...) She woke me up so that I could walk the dogs. Once the dogs and myself were back in the house, I went back to bed, but I couldn't sleep. Then, my uncle came over around 5:40. The first thing he did was come into my room and start messing with me. He was trying his hardest to get me up. He tickled my feet, threw Shortie on me, yanked back my covers, and in general, annoyed me. Still, I would not budge. I kissed my mom goodbye, told her I loved her, then laid back down. Ten minutes later, my alarm clock went off. There was no mercy for the white girl who wanted to go back to sleep.

I slept off and on last night, as usual. I blame a lot of my waking up on my dreams because they were so trippy. I rememeber having one dream about being the daughter of a Vietnamese couple who was being hunted by these bad Vietnamese dudes. I don't remember how it went exactly, but I've had dreams before like this one. It was very strange. I woke up with a since of deja vu. This morning, before my mom woke me up, I had the worst dream of all (or should it be classified as a nightmare?) In the dream, I was going out with Ricky, the editor of our Yearbook. This was by far the scariest dream I've ever had. I mean, I can't stand Ricky. He's so annoying! He doesn't look bad, but he's not my type. He use to be REALLY short and small before his doctor perscribed him steroids to make him grow (yes, he was THAT short and THAT small!) My mom swears he's only 14 and doesn't believe me when I say he's 17 (or has he already turned 18? Who knows...) I won't get into the details of the dream, mostly because they're embarrassing, especially since I was doing them with Ricky. Blah...makes me freaked out just thinking about it.

I look like crap. I'm not kidding either. I mean, I'm having to wear my Yearbook polo shirt today because we're going to FSU for a seminar. We have to look business like and put together. I'm all like, my normal clothes look more business like than jeans and our grey polo shirts. At least I get to drive there, so I can take off when the seminar gets out. There's always an upside to every situation.

Have you ever noticed how strange time can be? Every morning time just goes by so fast. One minute it's 6 a.m., the next it's 6:20 a.m. and I'm just getting in from walking the dogs. Then, I look at the clock and it reads 6:35 a.m., time for my shower. I get out of the shower, look at my Baby G watch, and it's 7 a.m. I dry off, get dressed, go to my room, throw some stuff in my hair, look at the clock and it's 7:20. I rush to the bathroom, do my hair, makeup, and brush my teeth again and it's 7:45. I get my stuff in my book bag, throw my cell in my purse, put my jewlry and Fossil watch on, put on my shoes, and it's 8:10. I get Zee-Zee and Shortie, put them in their dog pin, lock the back doors, get my keys, purse, and book bag, lock the front door, get in the Explorer, and find that it's 8:16 (on a good day). Go to Tiff's house, encourage her to move faster when getting in the car, get out of her neighborhood and on Oak Ridge Road, and it's 8:25. By the time we get to school, the first bell has rang (8:40) and we have 5 minutes to find a park, get our stuff, and walk up the hill from the parking lot to the school, then climb 3 flights of stairs to the Yearbook/Art room. When we get there, it's 8:45 (time for school) or there after (sometime after the late bell rings). Somehow I always start out on a good foot, but I end up being late anyway. See, time is a funny thing. The morning goes by so fast, and the rest of the day just inches by second after second, especially when sitting in a boring class, like Algebra II.

So, now that I sound weird and/or crazy, I suppose I should stop for now. Actually, I need to stop for now because it's 7:45 and I need to flat iron my hair and call Tiff to see if she went to school early or if I need to pick her up. Blah...school sucks, then you graduate, and then school sucks again. After that, you graduate from college, life starts, and the sucking process starts again -- this time life sucks in general, not just in one specific section. After that, if you're lucky enough to die at a ripe young age (say 80), life doesn't suck because you're dead. If you're one of the unlucky ones that keeps on kicking and lives to be 112, life really sucks cause what can you do at 112? Gum your applesause to death?