Can't Replicate.

April 1, 2007

I wrote an interesting blog and then somehow closed the damn thing and can't recapture what I wrote. Which is fine. It was on the theme of "what is an adult?" with the goofy realization that it's hard to be an adult when you've only ever been treated like a child. And what it means when an "adult" "tells on you." 

Monday, August 14, 1995.
My fingertips, as in the tips of my fingers, have been sore for the past few days. And last night I noticed itchy, pus-filled bumps on the end of my pinky finger on the left hand. It seemed like poison ivy. I put Benadryl on it and today it doesn't itch yet the bumps are still there. There's one big pus-filled one. Apart from that the tips of my fingers are red, sore, peeling in spots, there are tiny painful bumps in other spots. This isn't unusual for me but it's becoming a nuiscence (new sense). It's the middle of the evening and I am sitting in front of Ninety East, the little cafe/restaurant on Main St. in Newark. I have no other engagements other than this one with myself. There are always hoards of flies circling around your legs when you sit at these plastic white tables and chairs in front of the establishment. I've resorted to slathering on a wretched smelling lotion made specifically to keep them and other bugs away. It has worked well. Being as I sit here often I must have something. My previous 'Journal' sickens me. Not because of anything about me, just things that were happening around me at the time I was writing. Things that no longer need mentioning ever again. 

I am all of 18 years old, an adult you could say, yes, in some ways I suppose. I look like one. I feel like a child usually. I cry like a child, and whine like a child, complain and argue like one. Am selfish like one and tempered like one.

A while ago I stopped seeing Terry, my therapist. More out of sheer necessity than want. Work, living arrangements, money.

I left my house (my parents house really) back in June or July for two weeks. It wasn't yet required that I evacuate but the day was coming. So I left. It was a peculiar time. I packed most of my belongings into my car and left. Luckily Brad's mother had gone on vacation and left me a place to stay for the first week. Week #2 was already planned for. It was the week Allen's parents were going away. It was a completely different world. Yet completely the same. I was safe with him though. Safe and comfortable. 

[The Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile just drove by]

So little has changed in 12 years...

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  Beau Brendt

  Such similar lives we do lead, my friend...

  • Reply

  4 years ago