Jealous of parents
At work trying to find Last Resort sneakers in the Uniqlo Official Stylebooks. I've found 1 pair so far
My parents love me very much but they don’t get me at all. I’m working towards maybe some sort of email correspondence or something. My dad is best on the phone and my mom’s alright but she cannot really write to me without getting morbid. It’s as if all the sweet stuff she carries around with her just disappears when she hits keyboard. I imagine that’s some sort of thing related to working in bone marrow transplant for cancer treatment for 3 decades. Every email you send is life or death.
A thing I’ve been working on in therapy is the idea that my mother is not some sort of chess piece in my life I can move around only in certain ways. She is not the zookeeper to my contemptuous lion. She is a person, and I am a person, and I can’t really make her do anything. I live with her, and sometimes she cleans my room without my asking. She moves stuff all around and I can’t find it. This is how I misplaced my CDC vaccine card last summer. I think. I may have left it somewhere.
I tried to talk to her about it and she just shut me down. I asked maybe could she just tell me to do it, and I’ll figure it out? I said it just made me feel unheard, so on. She didn’t respond to that. And that’s okay. It’s not the biggest deal. It’s really nice of her, too. I like having a clean room and I’m no good at keeping one. I’ve been taking a lot more responsibility lately. I’m off the dole, full-time-employed, sober, trying to save my money. Life is going in interesting directions. Every day brings something new and all that. So it’s not the worst thing to come home to a made bed. It’s just her way of hearing me.
Though if nothing goes terribly off-course, I’m gonna start seeking a room or a sublet around December. Obviously.
I want to get a Spitfire logo tattooed on my right deltoid and an ignorant-style traditional thing on my left bicep. Like a sloppy tiger or something. A skull drinking soda. My right arm is going to be a sticker sleeve, I think. Generation-Z. Shit, I’ve got to get healed pics to my buddy Jess.
Remind self to torrent now that HBO Max is dead to me:
Girlfriends
Walking and Talking (RIP Anne Heche)
Smithereens
Lena’s Camping
Mrs. Fletcher
Close Enough
Vinyl. God. I’ve seen it twice. Bobby Cannavale is fucking incredible. The whole cast is incredible. They should have probably given Jack Quaid’s arc (he’s in A&R, brings a disco record to clubs in the Bronx) to the black kid in A&R but I like Jack Quaid.
Also this Camille Rowe thing Cosmic Dawn that doesn’t look good but I’ve only known her for the Dylan (RIP) section in cherry and being a supermodel or whatever so I’m interested.