Je suis a Chez Moi?

Je suis à Chez Moi?

Eric’s House
Smokin’ the Resin
“Cus we’re heads for one,
For two, my personal stash and my friend’s stash ran out.
Had I any other, It’d be devoted to you.”
Worried about Tall BioChemistists
Fuck.
Waco, Texas
11:11 pm
Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Je suis à Chez Moi?

Wow. So, I’m here.
Adam may be coming.
How do I feel, I don’t know.
Am I drunk?
Possibly.
Oh, in case you’re wondering: yes.
Yes? I still having feelings for him.


Oh, and Rebecca. I’d really appreciate it if you’d quit reading my blog. More importantly, I’d wish you’d stop taking my blog and using it as a weapon of diverson, trying to start shit between me and dad. He knows. I talk to him at least every two days.

When he read my blog about how I got swamped with lesbians, his first thoughts was, “Were they at least attractive lesbians?”
“Yes. It was lovely. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

So, when you said you were going to keep your noise out of my business, you meant except for going where you’re explicitly not wanted? Reading my blog eh? And sending it to Dad? Oh you’re sneaky. Did you think we wouldn’t talk about it?

I love the way I’m “You’re Daugheter,” when you call Dad, while Dad refers to you as, “My mother.” Dad at least give me my own independent being.

Look, please stop reading my blog. I’d really appreciate it.
Or, at least stop reading my blog and mailing it to Dad because you hope that he’d feel as outraged, incensed as you, and therefore justify your self-worth. Just Quit.

If you want to know, just ask.
But don’t be surprised with the response.

Again, as always. You take me out of context.


Oh, for the rest of you: I’m in Texas. And I love it.
Oh, but those Tall Tall Bio-Chemistists.
Do you remember?

I know there was dramas we won’t discuss here; I would never be so rude. But the point remains: I still care about him. As far as I can tell, I haven’t crossed any social boundaries, and seriously, neither has he.

I understand. And I don’t hold it against you.

[Point in fact: I just busted out my one-hitter. And everyone thought it was a cigarette.
“You totally out witted me.”] I’m not quite sure who, or what I out-witted, but something, somewhere was defiantly out-witted.

And, bio-chemists still don’t call.
Maybe I shouldn’t like biochemists at all?
I don’t think that’s true,
And find myself adrift in the wasted sea of youthful exubriance.