Selected Entries: July, 2003

At the beginning of my blog, I promised I would do these once every week. It's now been nine months, from September of 2009, since I posted the last one, and I think the time has come to catch up on a component of this site that I believe is an enriching and eye-opening window into the background of the person I've become.

In July of 2003 I was fifteen years old, between ninth and tenth grades.

These selected entries detail the mounting struggles with my parents and of course war updates from the child country of which I was by then a token and reluctant member.

July 7, 2003

Since our arrival back home yesterday [from visiting family in Decaying State], not much has happened. Oh, wait, we didn’t come home yesterday. We came home on the fifth. That afternoon I met Courtney, a friend of Powell’s.

She’s, I believe, nineteen years old, and she’s undeniably one of the nicest people that I have ever met. She was telling us that she wanted to open her own restaurant and that she was majoring in accounting to accomplish this goal. That way, she reasons, she can efficiently run her business; she says that she can already cook.

She asked us what we liked, and Powell and I said apple pie. She said that she would make us one, in what I thought was a joking, “one day…” tone. Well, wouldn’t you know it, she showed up here yesterday with a hot apple pie.

She was wearing oven mitts and warned that the pie was still hot--she’d just taken it out of the oven! I immediately invited her inside. The pie was delicious, too. I was astounded by such a random act of indiscriminate kindness. I truly believe that Courtney is one of the most pleasant people whom I have ever had the honor to make acquaintance with, quite unlike some other people who reside in this neighborhood.

Allow me to explain some of the outrageous events that took place today. Today started off badly. First, when I woke, I ate and cleaned my room. That was fine. I had decided that I wished to visit Blockbuster and seek employment. I did this yesterday, however their manager was not present. I was told yesterday that she would be at the store between 10:00a.m. and 4:00p.m.

So, around ten o’clock I decided to shower and go there, taking with me a due movie.

Well, for whatever stupid reason, I asked Mom if I could take a shower. Of course, she refused this request, saying, “You got in the pool yesterday.” As if this was a legitimate excuse.

I said to her, “A pool does not, in any way, substitute for a shower.”

My parents are persistent on this moronic, obviously-incorrect point. This is so barbaric and ludicrous and hypocritical that I am outraged just writing about it. I haven’t properly cleaned myself in two days! And tomorrow may make three! It is so embarrassing that I am ashamed to write on the subject. It’s so ridiculous that it even is a subject; it shouldn’t be debatable. Once a day to clean yourself, it’s quite simple. Tomorrow I must do this. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

So, to continue with today. After this argument I said that there really was no point in going to Blockbuster, and I laid down on my bed. Mom said that I could go cut the grass. She did this to provoke. I, however, won the fight. I took forever getting downstairs, then realized that my shoes were still up there. So, I retrieved them, then I half-heartedly cut the front lawn, then cut the back lawn (with a bit more effort) and sang terribly, and loudly. I pitied our neighbors at that moment.

Knowing that my mother desired my discomfort and would not allow me to swim, I went without seeking permission. She discovered me and told me angrily, although too late for her, that I had to finish my work first. So I finished.

My anger at her subsided when she took Short Boy, Tall Girl, Thomas, and I to the Library. I realized that she was trying to reconcile and I became pleasant. I went to Blockbuster, where the manager told me that they may or may not be hiring someone within the next week and that they’d get back to me.

July 9, 2003

It is very early in the morning, and I am at my grandparents’ house in Dirty County.

I needed to leave our house; I had to get out, I had to escape. I just couldn’t take it. I had been home for two days and I was already so miserable that just waking up at all was depressing.

It’s so different here. This is a place of love and kindness and respect and shelter for me. It’s a haven. And I’m going to be here for eight nights. I know that I should be looking for a better solution right now, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to care, I just want to get away. Running across the country won’t really help to permanently solve the problem, but at least I’m not there.

I told Anne that I wish she would somehow be financially and emotionally stable enough for me to live with her. Talking together, we hatched a plan. This plan involves her divorcing Angry Man and moving to Midwest State, where I could live, too. Although she seemed serious, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this plan will probably never be carried out. If, however, it could somehow be, I would be flying, soaring in my happiness.

I’ve discovered a family that’s strange and unusual and cares about art. Aunt Smugly Superior, Annoyingly Perfect, and Innocent typically have conversations about theatre, and Broadway CDs are popular in their car. I saw a brighter world from the back seat of my aunt’s mini-van. I saw a world beyond middle-class woes and monotonous talk of the house and the bills.

I met people who regard international matters of great importance. Political discussions were held every morning in my uncle’s living room, set in front of the television blazing CNN’s coverage of Liberia’s civil war.

News for our child country never stops coming. You'd think that, since the adults aren't allowed to know about it, people would be more cautious, but the need for secrecy hasn't stopped anyone from blabbing on and hasn't stopped things from happening.

My cousin has led an army into the city on her northern border that we call "Greece" and taken five prisoners. I love Blonde Cousin, but she is a mean queen. Oh, I mean governor now since we're officially not a monarchy anymore. It amounts to the same thing, though. She has wanted to take Greece for a long time, and now that Powell is president there's no one to stop her.

Meanwhile, back “home,” Tall Girl wants to be the governor of a province. Powell wants to let her, which definitely came as a surprise. He just said that he has to still be president.

Back when we were a monarchy, people hated us a lot, which is why the Revolution happened a year ago in the first place. Now Powell is doing the exact same thing, except he calls himself a president and I called myself a czar, and people are dumb enough to think there's a difference.

Why? It’s a mystery.

Powell was quite persistent on the phone that I recover the former Nicholia. That's one of the provinces we lost last year and it's in my grandmother's neighborhood.

I understand why he wants Nicholia and I think it's the right thing for the country, but I wish he would leave me out of it; I'm legally too old to still be involved because the law says that once you get into high school you have to give up your citizenship and never tell anyone about anything that happened.

My little vacation seems to have turned into a mission for the government of Aria. Powell said that even if I am too old I'm still his brother and he's still the president.

Nicholia's old king really likes Powell, so it shouldn't be too hard.

Well, I’ve been inspired by J.K. Rowling. Her success with Harry Potter was completely unexpected, she says, and so, I thought, why not try and have my book published? I'm definitely going to try and get a book published, and I'll ask Liberal Cousin how I should do it. I love life.