This year's AP English class is frantically working on their term papers right now. Suckas.
I spent some time in the past couple days outside with my dad, raking dirt. Well, raking rocks is more accurate; roots and rocks. (that's what it says in the song we made up) I got up at noon today and yesterday and spent 4-6 hours out there. My dad had been at it both mornings, and for at least another hour or two or three after I quit for the day. I don't know how the guy does it; I'm a walking sore. My fingers are still swollen from the rake and shovel, but it's overall not as bad as it was yesterday night. No one get offended now, but it really is "nigger work". Do you have a better word for moving rocks around?
We didn't go to graduation yesterday, because my brother didn't graduate. He has to take a class over, which caused major drama-tension in the house for awhile. I think the worst is definitely over now, and everyone realizes that it's not the end of the world. All he needs is his mom feeling heartedly disappointed in him and his little sister writing about him in her online journal. I would've liked to go to commencement anyway to see Andy and Fran, and anyone else I may've known. Barring that, I could've volunteered with Candice at the Tour of Connecticut through Waterbury, but it's all good because I spent the day raking rocks from dirt.
Wanna hear a funny story? I was at Candice's last night, trying to ignore my aching everything while sprawled out on the floor watching The Ring. Supposed to be a hard-ass scary movie, right? Well, we did freak out, but it wasn't because of the movie - Candice spotted a daddy-long-legs on the armchair. Why they cause this reaction in me, I don't know. All I know is that I turn into a frightened 3 year-old around them. I can rip out my own hair with hot wax, I can write a 17-page litererary critique in 2 nights and get an A, I can pass physics 131, I can move hundreds of pounds of dirt and stone, I can backboard an aquatic spinal injury in deep water, I can swim a mile, but I cannot touch a daddy-long-legs. I'd sooner ask for directions. We never found the damn thing, so we took the tape and watched it upstairs. Candice is 19 years old, I am 18. Is this sad, or cute?
I spent some time in the past couple days outside with my dad, raking dirt. Well, raking rocks is more accurate; roots and rocks. (that's what it says in the song we made up) I got up at noon today and yesterday and spent 4-6 hours out there. My dad had been at it both mornings, and for at least another hour or two or three after I quit for the day. I don't know how the guy does it; I'm a walking sore. My fingers are still swollen from the rake and shovel, but it's overall not as bad as it was yesterday night. No one get offended now, but it really is "nigger work". Do you have a better word for moving rocks around?
We didn't go to graduation yesterday, because my brother didn't graduate. He has to take a class over, which caused major drama-tension in the house for awhile. I think the worst is definitely over now, and everyone realizes that it's not the end of the world. All he needs is his mom feeling heartedly disappointed in him and his little sister writing about him in her online journal. I would've liked to go to commencement anyway to see Andy and Fran, and anyone else I may've known. Barring that, I could've volunteered with Candice at the Tour of Connecticut through Waterbury, but it's all good because I spent the day raking rocks from dirt.
Wanna hear a funny story? I was at Candice's last night, trying to ignore my aching everything while sprawled out on the floor watching The Ring. Supposed to be a hard-ass scary movie, right? Well, we did freak out, but it wasn't because of the movie - Candice spotted a daddy-long-legs on the armchair. Why they cause this reaction in me, I don't know. All I know is that I turn into a frightened 3 year-old around them. I can rip out my own hair with hot wax, I can write a 17-page litererary critique in 2 nights and get an A, I can pass physics 131, I can move hundreds of pounds of dirt and stone, I can backboard an aquatic spinal injury in deep water, I can swim a mile, but I cannot touch a daddy-long-legs. I'd sooner ask for directions. We never found the damn thing, so we took the tape and watched it upstairs. Candice is 19 years old, I am 18. Is this sad, or cute?
posted by Laura at 11:50:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home