prestently listening to:

intentions to:

soberity level:

my mom came home upset last night. i've been sick so i was kinda slumped over on the couch, looking much like a tired dog. she kept racing around the house cleaning, as she does when her eyes are welling up. she said she'd gone to see my Papa, her dad.

"the man is an alcoholic"

but he has been for years. she said he'd been perticulary obnoxious tonight.

"what'd he say?"

she wouldn't answer.

"What he'd say to you mom?"

"he complained about elizabeth and her kids. he asked how you kids are, he loves you guys, he always asks. i told him you got a promotion at the Youth Center and he said he could understand why. he said he didn't know how you got to working there in the first place looking like you do. i paused and i think he realized what he'd said. 'i love my grandkids!' he said. i told him he'd never seen you at work! did he realize what age group you work with?!?"

i stay rested on the couch and let the alligator tears well up, and roll down my right check and puddle on the bridge of my nose, flooding my left eye. i stayed very still and tried not to let my mom see i was upset.

she went to her room a sobed as quietly as she did when she still lived with dad. i picked up some homework and pretend i could read it through my stinging eyes. emerging from her room, tear streaked, she walked to me,

"come here"

she kissed my forehead and turned back to her room.

"you grandfathers an asshole"

her voice trembled.

i wasted no more than 3 solid minutes of homework time in this disfunctional state. Brandon called twice to see what i was doing and all i could do was get him off the phone as fast as possible to finish my paper.

i wrote my mom a note on the bathroom mirror with the dry earse markers. we keep such different hours, its our way of saying, i'm alive. i wrote:

"mom...i know Papa is old and unacustom to a fashionable girl like me. i know he loves me. and i know your proud of me for being so good at what i do. i'm sorry Papa made you sad. when your old like him i'll take care of you and never have bastardly problems to move into your house. i love you."

i went to bed without finishing my paper. i called BP like i said i would and i told him why i didn't wanna talk. he apologized and reminded me that hes proud of me and so is my mom. he asked if i wanted him to come up. i said no, i was tired and needed to sleep. i lay in bed for 2 hours crying. i'd passout and wake up unable to breath with all the tear-snot. 2 hours went on like this! i finally passed out for good.

i had wierd dreams. i dreamt that BP had cheated on me and i was trying to deal with it. it was someone he'd been seeing on the side for years. i was hysterically crying in my dreams. then i dreampt i went to see Ian in Ukrane. we hungout, smoked pot, which is funny cause he did smoke anymore last time we were hanging out. we swam and talked and were very at peace. i remember the oppurtunity to kiss him, and i remember letting it pass.

i woke up with my eyes so swollen i could hardly see.

she left me a note this morning:

"Kristen, Yes Papa is old and very small minded. I can forgive him for that, but not for being mean. I love you for being all that you are, smart, beautiful, good, kind and loving. Your able to see the good in people and shine to bring that out in them, and thats a rare quality. xoxo Monster"

i don't want a fucking hug cause thats admiting i need one. i don't wanna hear that my Papa is just old and stoopid cause i know. i just didn't expect to hear this from my own blood. not in mention of my moveing up.