I took a shower a few minutes ago, and I felt absolutely sick. the hot water made me want to throw up. it was such an odd feeling. now I just feel disgusting.
I had a really good weekend. spent it at the river with my parents, my sis and her boyfriend. we also brought chessie and boots. chessie went crazy in the water, and like always came out weighing twice as much because she swallows so much water. but this weekend was really refreshing for me. Smoking, drinking, playing apples to apples, going on the boat, swimming in the river, attempting to get a tan. hanging out with my family. It really put things in perspective for me.
Came home and realized I forgot about my homework, so I stayed up quite late. I just feel so tired lately. I wish I could sleep all day, every day. and that you could join me.
I was staring at the uncompleted and completely trashed building directly in front of me, confirming my belief that I will never live in Arizona - it's too ugly in too many places. sitting in an Autozone parking lot, my mind is wandering onto silly and useless thoughts. just another moment, just another day. I'm wiping the sweat off my forehead, waiting for him as he ruffles through his bag of necessities. he starts speaking defensively, "You know that I'm having a hard time lately, and I'm pissed off, and I need to just have a moment to myself, alright-" I glance over quickly to comprehend what the hell he's barking about to see him pull out a cigarette and a lighter. I look away as my heart sinks immediately into my stomach. I can hear the cigarette squeezed between his lips, his voice muffled, "I need to have a cigarette. I need it, I fell off the wagon, I need to have it, I'm not happy right now, alright, I'm stressed." I bit my lip to hold in the sniffling that was bound to happen. eyes filling up with tears, I spit out, "I thought you quit..." I look over to watch his rough hands cupped around the cigarette to protect the flame. "I started again, a few weeks ago. I'm stressed, okay. Don't give me any shit. If you tell your mother, you might as well sign the divorce papers, okay? Might as well sign them yourself, you think about that." At this point he's rambling and I've already stopped listening. I tell him, "I'm not saying anything, because that's your own fucking problem. You can be the one to tell her." He's still rambling, informing me that I will be the one to create issues if I were to say anything, as if I could take the blame for something that isn't my fault at all. After a painful, long moment of silence, I blurt out, "Is this why you're okay with me smoking weed? Because you feel guilty?" He pulls the cigarette out from between his lips and looks over at me. "We all have our vices, don't we."
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