foxxdoolz

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (12-10-24)

Long time no see.

My brother's dead.

I'm home and everything's weird. Nobody is taking it well, everyone's crying all the time, but that's the biggest part of it. I got the call on Sunday at like 1 PM, and I was on a flight home at 4. Since then, it has just been a lot of talking and sharing stories. A lot of laughing, which isn't typically what one thinks of when it comes to grieving, but my family's pretty weird.

Sunday night, I was talking to my dad, and he broke down in front of me. "He was so cold." He told me, he was the one who found him. He told me he needed some alone time, I gave it to him, and he went outside and started throwing shit. He broke a glass table. I think it helped. He seems to be doing better now. My parents are at the funeral home right now.

His best friend was the one who called my parents. They were supposed to hangout on Friday night, like they do every week, but my brother said he was feeling sick. Saturday came around and he hadn't heard back from him, texted and called him with no answer, and when Sunday rolled around, he told my parents what was going on and my dad went and checked in on him.

That friend isn't doing so hot. The two of them were practically soulmates. He blames himself. I'm trying my best to help.

I think I'm handling it pretty well. I was a mess on Sunday. God, how many times can someone break down in an airport. When I stepped off the plane and felt the cold Minnesota air, it made it feel all the more real. My sister and my brother and I's friends came to pick me up. I saw my sister, my sister who is no longer a twin, and we sobbed into each other.

His best friend and I hugged, and the first words I said were "I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in so long." And we hugged. His other best friend and I hugged, and I hugged that friends younger sister, who was also my brother's friend.

I wasn't supposed to be home for the holidays, and here I am.

My brother's cats are now my parents' cats. They're acting different from how they usually act, so I looked it up. One of them is super clingy and vocal, and the other is hiding away and has a loss of appetite, which are both signs of them grieving.

The police think something is suspect about it, and we still don't know the cause of death as they're looking into it, but we're all pretty sure there's no foul play involved. My brother never had any enemies. He had a bruise on his face though. His phone was on him, he could have called. He doesn't like going to the doctors.

I haven't slept a lot. Slept maybe an hour that first night. Slept maybe about three this past night. Neighbors keep bringing around food, there's so much food. My dad's been calling us Italian.

It's gonna be like two weeks before we have his Celebration of Life. We're gonna get him cremated, and we're not gonna have a funeral, because we don't know where to lay him to rest yet. Some time in the summer, we're gonna go up North to the cabin and spread some of his ashes there. I don't really believe in any after life things, but he really loved it up there, and I think it would be a really nice place to rest.

We're all gonna go over to his house tomorrow and go through his stuff.

Yesterday they went to his work and cleaned out his locker. My mom saw his boots and hat and broke down, so did our friends, I've been doing a lot of comforting because I relatively taking it better than all of them.

My worst fear about moving away was that someone was going to die and I wasn't going to be able to say goodbye. I never expected it to be my 24 year-old brother.

My dad has a little collection of the belongings that were on him, including his wallet, so I went through it when I had some alone time. It was just his business cards left in there, but at the very bottom was my business card, and it made me cry. And when I looked up I was face to face with a photo of him, and I started to loose it a little. He kept my business card on him. I wonder if he would look at it sometimes and think of me.

Its just been a lot of sitting around and waiting, and everyone's getting kind of antsy. I had expected it to be go go go, but it's not.

But it's been a lot of reminiscing and looking at photos and laughing and being with each other. We're all a little cried out, but it's gonna keep happening.

When I got home from the airport on Sunday, I hugged my mom for a long time, and then I saw my dad walk out, and I saw his eyes get teary. It's the same look on his face when he listens to See You On the Other Side by Ozzy because it reminds him of his mom. I held onto him so hard.

We weren't supposed to lose our brother.

I never said it enough, but I love you. Even when our relationship was shitty and we hated each other, you were always my brother and always will be. I love you.

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (6-22-24)

I've come around on journaling a lot easier than I thought I would. I can't really do it daily like self help blogs would suggest, but I figure when I can is good enough.

As teased at the end of my previous entry, I want to talk about the few true romantic interests I've had in my life.

As of recent times, there's two people that occupy my heart. Where any time I'm around them, I want to hold them close. When we walk I want to press my lips to their mouths. And, most terrifyingly, I want to tell them every thought in my head.

And, yes, it's two people at once. A guy and a girl. I'm so fucked.

The Girl I've known longer. Girl is the friend of my old roommate, who I met literally one of the first nights I moved to LA. The moment I saw her, I knew I was fucked. She's like a fucking forest-fairy-goddess, she is the eptiome of my type when it comes to girls. So fucking cute and hot and nice and smart and funny.

She'd pop in and out of my life at random, she was the friend of my roommate first, and I was just her friend's roommate, and my work schedule has always been ass. I went to one of her parties once, we watched Over the Garden Wall. I helped her film a little short film thing, and as the night went on and we got closer to finishing it, we sat on her couch and cuddled. I was the only one who was able to help her move into her new place (which is now her old place, and of course I helped her move again). And, then, I didn't see her for almost a year because the schedules never worked out.

The Guy I've known... fuck, almost a year at this point. I failed one of my classes and got bumped a month behind all my friends, leaving me essentially alone. And from the moment I first saw him, I went fuck. The epitome of my type for a guy, goofy with wild hair. But he was in a relationship at the time, so I kept things strictly friendly when I was suddenly brought into his orbit, made friends with quite a few of those new faces in that class.

Then, his girlfriend broke up with him. I didn't jump on him or anything, but he's my friend, I let it be known that I was there for him, that I could talk any time if he needed. We'd go to the movies together sometimes, in what i thought could be almost-dates, except for the fact that he kept bringing other people with him at the last moment. We'd sit next to each other, and I kept wanting to just reach out, hold his hand, let him know I liked him like that, but I could never bring myself to. Fuckin' pretty boys, right?

Well, then the two heartaches converged when Girl was dropped into our classes, and very quickly was integrated into our group. And then we started hanging out at guy's house, drinking a little, smoking a little. I don't smoke weed anymore, but I'm weak when it comes to pretty boys and girls. And we'd chat and laugh and enjoy each other's company. And I was so happy when Girl came back into my life because she's really awesome.

Then, one night, Girl, Guy, and Guy's Friend were over at Guy's house. Oh and I love Guy's Friend, he's very much a kindred spirit, I love him to bits, as a friend of course. Guy's Friend went to bed, he's a quick and heavy sleeper. Guy, Girl and I went out for a cigarette smoke, I was just tipsy enough to say fuck it. I asked them if shotgunning was a real thing, both smoke weed way more than I do. Of course I know what shotgunning is. I played coy, they didn't need to know. So, Guy shotgunned his vape into my mouth, and fuck, it's hot.

When we got back to guy's house, we decided to go to bed. Guy's Friend had taken the couch, and Girl called dibs on one side of the bed, Guy, of course took the other, and I laid on the floor. We looked for something to watch, I suggested Killer Klowns From Outer Space, aghast that they'd never seen the movie before. I had expected them to fall asleep quickly, my sleep schedule is fucked, but all three of us just kept talking during the movie.

After too many "what did you say", eventually they both just said, "do you wanna come up here?" I was just tipsy enough to agree. Girl squeezed into the middle, and we watched the movie together, making comments. Guy went up to use the bathroom, when he came back, he squeezed into the middle. I got up to use the bathroom, and when I came back, I was squeezed into the middle.

Somehow, someway, I was lucky enough to be able to wrap both my arms around them as they laid their heads on my chest. I was all smiles, heart beating in my chest rapidly. At one point, Guy shotgunned his vape to me again, and then to Girl. And then, so fucking suddenly, he was kissing me, and I was kissing him back. And then he was kissing Girl, then I was kissing Girl. We were all just kissing each other and laughing, I kept making jokes, alright? Killer Klowns entirely forgotten as we started heavily making out.

I couldn't fucking believe it, it was insane, absolutely mental. I'd never felt so happy, jesus christ. This worked out better than I was expecting.

We had to be quiet because of Guy's Friend, and, after like an hour of making out heavily, we had to stop before it went any further. Neither of us were all that drunk, especially anymore. And we settled in to sleep. Guy didn't cuddle because he didn't want Guy's Friend to wake up and see us all in such a compromising situation. Girl and I cuddled the whole night. I love a good cuddle, but fuck, it's hard to sleep while cuddling. I had my arm stretched behind Girl's head to hold onto Guy so he didn't feel left out.

It happened like three months ago now, that amazing night. And it hasn't happened again, we haven't even talked about it. It's been itching at my skin this entire time. It was the first time I've ever kissed someone I actually liked. It skyrocketed my confidence. I've dated like two and a half people, and I never liked any of them like that. I felt attractive for maybe the first time in my life.

Every time I see them, which is every single time I have class, I can feel it bubbling up in the back of my throat, itching to be said, but I never do. There's never been much of a good moment to ask about it. If I ask, there's the strong possibility of rejection, and that terrifies me. That if I ask, it'll break this friendship we have.

And I love them too much to loose them.

I see the way Guy stares at Girl, and maybe it's true that you never realize when some stares at you like that, but I can see it in his eyes and smile. He likes her a lot more than he likes me. And I can't even blame him, because I get it wholly. Girl is amazing. But I can't help that bitter taste of jealousy that he doesn't look at me like that, that maybe I was just the first hurdle to getting somewhere with her. Realistically, I know I'm being stupid, but I can't help it.

-PCD

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (6-16-24)

I started thinking about journaling because I have to for my class, I was given a little paper book and everything. I think part of me believes I don't want to be a burden with my thoughts, even to something as simple as a cheap little notebook.

Love is a strange concept for me.

I'm very quick to throw love to people who are friends, have even been quick to say love to drunken strangers that stumble into my pizza shop. And I love my parents, my family, my friends, my coworkers (some of them).

But romantic love has always seemed so foreign to me.

I've had boyfriends and girlfriends, I've been on dates. Some dates. Okay, okay, one date when I wasn't actively in a relationship with someone.

The first person I ever dated was my best friend in seventh grade. I found out they liked me, and I didn't want to hurt their feelings, so I asked them out first. Nowadays, I wish I hadn't, because they were my best friend for so long, and we lost that for not even two weeks of terrible kissing. She used way too much tongue, and, like, was constantly spamming it into my teeth. It was weird, it was gross. She liked me a lot more than I liked her.

We tried to stay friends afterwards, were friends for quite a few years, but we drifted apart, and I don't remember the last time I talked to her. I wish I could have said how much she meant to me, to have a friend like her all those years, even if our lives were just moving in different directions. She was my first kiss, I named a guitar after her because that seems like the thing you should do. I don't even own the guitar anymore, it's at my brother's house, I think, her name swirled on it.

My second sort of relationship, it sorta wasn't, but it was the second person I ever kissed. Junior year of high school, and they were also my friend. We hung out, they wanted to make out a little, I agreed because I learned nothing from my past relationship. We made out occasionally, and that's all it ever was. They liked me a lot more than I liked them.

It could've been more maybe, not that I particularly wanted it to be, but both of us just didn't have the time for it. I prioritized work and school, tried to keep them close as a friend. I think they're happier now. They used to always making jokes and being a clown, hiding behind it. I'm pretty sure they're either nonbinary or trans now, and they seem a lot more comfortable in their skin when I see their posts on Instagram.

My third, and so far, only ever relationship, was my senior year of high school. It was interesting the time frame of it all. I had just made out with my previous ex semi-recently, like within the last week, when, suddenly, I was hanging out with a new friend in his car, he kissed me, I kissed back, he asked me to be his girlfriend, I said yes. I don't know why I said yes, I think I just really liked hanging out with them.

He liked me a lot more than I liked him. He told me he loved me within the first two months, and I couldn't say it back. I should've ended it then, but for the next four months, I had that looming over my head. Constantly thinking about it, constantly feeling like a shitty person. We tried to have sex, it didn't work out.

He dumped me over the phone, my friend, who was also my ex (sorta), who was also my boyfriend's friend, was sitting next to me in my car in the Sonic parking lot. I remember my friend asking me if I was okay, and I was. I was very okay with it actually, happy about it maybe?

A month and a half before I moved away from home, he called me drunk one late night, and even though I didn't love him like he wanted me to, I still cared about him as a person, cared that he was safe. So I went and picked him up, made sure he hadn't over done it. He asked if I ever wanted to try again, or, like, hookup occasionally or something. I turned him down. I don't think either of us got the closure we wanted. The thing I'm most upset about is the fact I think I left one of my favorite pairs of Vans at his house.

The only date I've ever been on, that was truly a date-date while not in a relationship, was a few months after I moved to LA. We had a meet-cute. I thought she was cute as we both walked around the little record store we were in. I kept looking over at her, very subtly checking her out because she was cute with her pink hair. I'd find her looking back at me.

She had left way before I had, I had records to find, and when I left, I found her waiting for me. We planned a cute picnic-movie date at a park, and it was very cute and fun, and she was super cool and I liked talking to her. But it dawned on me, as we were leaving, that I just really liked hanging out with her, I didn't see her romantically.

When she texted to say she had a lot of fun and tried to invite me to another date, I had finally learned something, and told her I didn't see her that way. She was upset, she liked me a lot more than I liked her. A few months later and she texted me to see if she had done anything wrong, which seems like a weird thing to ask someone you went on one date with and not actually ever kissed or anything, and I told her no. She seemed pretty awesome for the few moments I spent in her orbit, and I just had things I needed to figure out on my end.

Relationships, dating, is weird. I just wanna like hang out with hot people and maybe make out a little. Is that so much to ask?

When I go to the club, I love making out with strangers, I think I just like kissing a little. Never more than a little soft groping over the clothes, and bodies pressed together.

I don't really get sex either. I don't understand the big deal with it, or anything. I've been flittering around with the thought of asexual for years now, but I really love making out.

There's more to this story, but I need to go to bed.

As a teaser to myself, I wanna talk about the few people in my life I've felt romantically towards.

-PCD

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (6-15-24)

I wonder why I am so much more open to writing all my thoughts out in a place where they could be seen, versus just writing them in a Google Doc or a notebook. I don't fucking know, alright? Jeez, I don't have all the answers. Maybe it's accountability or something. Or the false anonymity that comes with having a username.

Or, maybe, it's the fact that we're all scared to be seen, but equally as scared to be unseen.

I like having things. Stuff. Objects. I'm a bit of a hoarder. Little, tiny pieces of trash that mean something to me. I have a lump of clay my old homeroom teacher carved a hall pass into when I was in high school. A hair tie that came from my best friend I was in love with, tied back together after it snapped. The t-shirt I wore to my first ever Warped Tour (fuck, who even remembers Warped Tour), that I've never washed, still covered in paint and reeking of Mary Jane (I don't even like that kind of music, but I think it was the sense of belonging).

There's a letter in my car that my dad typed and printed out and gave to me right before I moved away from home. It stays there, never to be brought into any apartment I moved/move into because that letter feels like home the same way my car does. In a way these apartments never will.

But, above all else, I collect records, vinyls, whatever. I actually collect most things of physical mediums, something tangible for something I like, but none more so than records. I have a spreadsheet that lists all of them, however, I need to update it. Right now, the spreadsheet sits at 197, but it is now well over 200.

I remember the first record I ever owned. I had to scroll through my mom's facebook just to figure out when. Six years ago, almost to the date shockingly, when I was 15. My family and I drove out to Washington to go to a wedding, and there was one day where my dad, my brother, my sister and I went into Seattle. My sister was, (and I apologize profusely if this is wrong now, but I swear it's what it was called) a coach for a special olympics team, and she wanted to surprise her kids and see them at their big game. It was very kind of her, my sister is very kind.

So, my dad dropped her off, and we had a few hours to dink around Seattle. We went to the Kurt Cobain park, even though none of us are big fans of Nirvana (they killed glam, we hold a grudge). And, then, we went to an antique store, Mr. Johnson's Antiques, I don't even know if they're still around today. The only reason I remember the store at all is their business card I've kept all these years. And I had been to plenty of antique stores, seen plenty of LPs and 45s, but for some odd reason, this was the time for me to buy one.

Joe Walsh's But Seriously, Folks...

I was chatting with the worker for awhile, he was cool, my dad was wary (always wary of people who are too nice, I wonder if he'd be wary of me now). I was nothing but a small town queer in a progressive big city. I had always been a fan of old stuff. According to people I both know and strangers I've chatted with, I was born in the wrong generation. I was called eclectic once by a family friend of my neighbors, and that has sorta always stuck with me. Not my sense of style or anything, just me, myself, my whole being, eclectic.

I flipped through all the records that they had, seeing names I recognized, names I would later recognize, and names I didn't know, and still don't know. But, out of all of them, I chose Joe Walsh. Who, I'm sure, I only vaguely knew at the time. But I recognized one song out of the eight.

Life's Been Good

I still think about that store when I hear the song, think about the eclectic man who worked there. And it makes me smile. Frankly, it's the only song on the whole album I can hear in my head, or even have any passing remembrance of.

He gave it to me for one dollar. I don't know if that was the actual price, or if he was just being nice. All in all, the album was (still is, I take care of my shit) in great condition. To me, it is priceless, a one of a kind.

We went and got Arby's after, and I will not stand for Arby's slander, it is gas, and that was our adventure into Seattle.

The albums that followed were Foreigner 4, Foreigner Double Vision, Kansas Overture, and Billy Squier's Don't Say No. I don't know what drew me to those albums, but they feel like home.

Then, the best friend I was in love with, sold me a record player, and that sparked an addiction that rivals nicotine for me.

Don't Say No was my favorite album for a long time, still one of my faves, but there's a few more that have bumped it down a peg. The title track is nothing special, but is has one of the best openings to any album I've ever heard. In the Dark into The Stroke into My Kinda Lover??? Absolutely insane. Great flow. I had to start listening to the album when I started writing this.

Nowadays, the lucrative pedestal for my favorite album of all time belongs to George Harrison's Living in the Material World. I don't remember when or where I'd gotten the album, opposed to the other five I've listed, but I do remember listening to it for the first time, which is a credit the other albums I own cannot possess.

I remember why I bought the album. My rising addiction to owning vinyl coincided with getting into the Beatles (nowadays I almost own all Original Pressings of their albums, my White Album has a serial number), and I bought the album because I wanted to also own solo albums from the Fab Four. Tug of War by McCartney, and Walls and Bridges by Lennon are standouts that I own, both are very good albums.

I must have been sixteen at the time, because this is the moment my life diverged. I remember struggling in school, because for the first time ever I got a C+ in a class. Such a big deal, I know, but I was dead set on going to Northwestern and becoming a Mathematician or Physicist or something smart like that. I had the grades and the history to do so, I was a total geek in school, math, science, history, english came so easy to me. Math makes sense to me, and math ties into everything else I had to learn. Everything was just an equation, and had an answer.

But that class was awful. It was about 3D modeling and stuff and learning how things move and stuff, I don't remember, I hated the class. The teacher was pretty awesome too. Well, the student teacher technically, the actual teacher was usually busy with a million other things to actually teach our class. The kids were alright. It was a bunch of conservative hicks, because it was technically a shop class, but I got along pretty well with most of them, even became friends with some of them.

But I still failed that final, the first time I've ever failed something. Sometimes I got Cs or maybe a D on a final, but that was usually because I didn't care if I passed or failed because I knew I'd still get an A or B in the class. It was a project instead of a test.

My mom would tell me years later, with a few drinks in her system, that she didn't know how to help me. I was crying at the dinner table because I knew I was going to fail the project, and my mom, bless her heart, wanted to help, wanted to see me succeed, wanted my tears to quell, but she didn't know how to help. I'd never needed help with anything before really. I was good at school unlike my brother, I never got into drama with my friends unlike my sisters. Gifted kid burnout I guess.

And I sat at that table feeling like a failure, that I could see all my hopes and dreams crumbling away in that instant (everything seemed like a much bigger deal when you're a kid). And my mom didn't know how to help me because I'd never needed help before.

I don't know why I gravitated towards listening to Living in the Material World. I can only assume, because my collection at the time was less than fifty, that I'd simply already listened to everything else. I simply put the album on the spinner, dropped the needle, and laid down on the floor.

Music, nowadays, is background noise. I can't work without music, but as soon as I heard the opening warm, gentle guitar of Give Me Love, I couldn't do anything but listen. I could feel every inch of skin that touched my scratchy carpet floor (the carpet had never been gutted from that room, mystery stains could write their own memoir). I can feel that same carpet now as I write this.

Give Me Love spoke to me, because I just wanted love like everyone else. Chasing that feeling, holding it close, and hoping it never leaves.

Sue You, Sue Me Blues felt petty and angry despite the timid tone of the song. Made me feel righteous in my hatred of that class, screamed into my head what I wanted to scream at that class. What I wanted to scream at that stupid project while sitting at my dining room table. But it was so timid. Basically saying, why do you need to feel so angry over something as small as this? Why let it consume you? So, just, sue me, sue you. Everyone is sued.

The Light That Has Lighted the World immediately shifted me into sadness. That piano is so fucking heart wrenching. Like watching my dreams shatter. That it was okay to feel upset, that I had the right to. "So hateful of anyone that is happy" is exactly how I felt at the moment. He says something about having changed at the beginning of the song, and I had changed at that moment. I couldn't be helped by my mom.

Don't Let Me Wait Too Long sounds like what my mom wanted to say to me at that table. With her gentle hands and gentler smile. And when she had told me that drunken tidbit, I just smiled at her, because she tried, she was there. And that's all I needed.

Who Can See It, I remember crying during this song during my first listening. Because it told me it was okay I failed that final, that my dreams were crumbling, because it'll get better, I'll find a new a new meaning because my life belongs to me.

Living in the Material World, the title track. Now that I was able to process my failure, this is what I needed. That I would find that new place to belong, a new dream to slot myself into. I may not have it now, but it would come, it would be okay. I think I latched onto the lyric "Just trying to get a message through" because that has sorta become my new dream. To let others feel seen through what I do. To feel like they belong near me.

I remember the record fizzling to silence, and I still just laid there, going through the songs again in my head. Feeling as they blew my mind, resonated in my soul.

When I did finally get up and turn over the album, I still liked the music, but it faded back to background music as I processed the A-Side. I think, maybe, I just haven't needed the B-Side yet. Still very good music, but it hadn't, hasn't, hit me as much as the first six.

When I graduated, I went out and bought a new copy of the album to give to my homeroom teacher. I told him "this album changed my life". The you did too was silent, but I think he got the message. I gave it to him at my graduation party, he didn't stay for very long, but it meant a lot to me that he came. When he left, he told me "I've met your parents now, and so much about you makes so much sense now".

It made me laugh then. Now it makes me kinda wanna cry and smile at the same time. I wonder if he's listened to the album. I wonder if it spoke to him the same way it did me. I wonder if, after listening, so much more about me made sense.

I emailed him recently, told him how much he meant to me.

He told me I was one of the rare ones, not one of the cookie cutters. Eclectic. And if I was ever gonna be back in town, that we should meet up.

I go home in July for a week.

-PCD

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (6-10-24)

I was told journaling is good for the mind. I don't believe that steaming wad of bullshit, but here we are.

Maybe there's something to say about something. But even as I type this, my mind his blank. Blank like always. Always blank. I've given it a phrase at this point.

The Art of Destroying Your Life.

Because, truly, at this point, it's my greatest piece of work to date. Not the scripts I have written, not the films I've made, but my inherent ability to feel nothing about my life.

I'm happy sometimes, sure, sad sometimes, but I can't run away from this crippling feeling of nothingness. That I simply just exist. And I love existing and breathing and loving and thinking.

I think about how, right now, at the age of twenty-one, I live surrounded by trash. Not hyperbole. Rotting takeaway on the floor, liquor cans standing right next to it, snack wrappers taking up an entire side of my bed so no body could sleep near. I find it totally disgusting, and yet I continue to let it rot.

Living is monotonous. And I love living, but I can't help the thoughts that any time I smile or laugh, am I just sliding a mask on? Am I truly content if the second I am away from whatever is immediately making me happy, I feel nothing?

I get into these slumps where I don't feel like existing. Not that I want to stop existing, no, but I don't want to be perceived, I suppose.

I remember the first time I felt this way. Eighteen. The retail place I worked at just closed down, my stability of my favorite job ever, gone without my say. And there would be weeks that would pass where I didn't shower, ate filth, the only moments of happiness coming from fleeting moments with my friends.

And, then, I applied to a film school, halfway across the country, and I felt invigorated. I had a goal to achieve. I had something to do. And I was constantly working towards that goal.

And now, I'm at that film school, I've achieved that goal, and now it's just life. I just go to school, go to work, eat filth, and don't shower until I have to be perceived.

I wonder if these slumps existed before I was eighteen. If that's why I took my first drag of a cigarette at thirteen. If that's why I first stole a crappy seltzer from my mom at fourteen. If that's why I first coughed marijuana from my lungs at fifteen.

I no longer smoke weed, having stopped when I was about seventeen, and, though it may sound like it, I don't drink often. I like to drink socially, but the thought of drinking alone is boring. The cans on my floor are from weeks of long shifts at work.

I confided in a friend of mine recently that I want to go to therapy. Therapy costs money, money I do not have when I am living paycheck to paycheck. But, hopefully in the near future, I can take that step. I'm an open book, really, and I love talking to people.

I've been thinking about my grandma a lot recently. My dad's mom. She passed away when I was five. I only have one memory of her face, and the memories of my father's face when talking about her. I think about how my dad was barely an adult when he lost his mom, only thirty-five, when there was still so much more he needed from her. Cancer is a fucking mess, I suppose.

I also think about he was only a little bit older than I am now when he lost his own father. A good for nothing, angry drunk, but still his father. How, among the myriad of shitty stories I've been told, my dad still thinks so highly of his own father. Idolizes him, loves him, despite the bullshit.

I wonder if my dad looks at my mom's parents and feels a pang of jealousy. Still alive, still healthy, not miserable drunks doomed to cancer or psychiatries. Jealous that my mom's family, for all of the assholes and strange people, is massive, when my dad has very little.

My mom with too many brothers and sisters to remember the names of, and my father with his two sisters, and newly found half-brother. I think it meant a lot to my dad to find his family growing. It's only been a few years since he's known his half-brother, and it's only been a few times I've seen my half-uncle, but a little bit of light comes back to my dad's eyes when he's around. A light that fizzled when his mom died.

The same light that re-entered when his long-divided cousin and him got back into contact. Once again, cancer is a fucking mess-

...

I think I'll have to come back to this. I'm pretty sure something just dropped into my tub, like an alive thing.

At first I thought it was just one of my neighbors when I heard something fall behind the wall, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of something clawing at ceramic.

I went to go investigate, thought I saw something move in the darkness of my bathroom, and promptly slammed the door closed.

I need to ready myself before I can check it out. Maybe it's a rat, or a pigeon, or maybe I just need to go to sleep.

-PCD