shrikedyke

Coming to you from Colorado. The family of my little sister's best friend has a fabulous house in Crested Butte, and they invited us to come spend the week here with them. This is swell for my sister, who gets to have a constant party with her buddy... And it's swell for my parents, who very much like hanging out with these good folks... But I'm the... seventh wheel here. No buddy for me. Boo. Not that it's not heart-stoppingly gorgeous here in this house all alone on a mountain. And I'm also pretty geared up for the snowboarding (I haven't done it in two years, so I plan to suck. Yee!). But... There's a lot of time spent NOT snowboarding... And... And.. I've even run out of things to read. (At least I still have you, precious internet...)

Goddamnit, you little brats, shut up. It's my job to keep those unruly pre-teens in line, and I'm about to get out the whuppin stick if they don't stop giggling and go the hell to sleep. Snow storm outside... Pretty. I'm already kind of antsy though, and "pretty" isn't going to keep me completely amused for five more days. Only two rolls of film left, then my primary creative outlet vanishes and I go insane with only 11 year olds to keep me company. Eh! Oh well! Insanity comes highly recommended. Maybe I'll feel more optimistic after a day on the dreaded board of doom. Which I will count a success if I don't break my wrists. Yeeeeee-ha. Repeat after me: Pain is our friend. It lets us know we are alive.

P.S: I have a (dead) relative named Eupha. Eupha! I'll let that sink in.

P.P.S. In the back area of the little "Toy and Scence" store where I used to buy My Little Ponies wih saved-up quarters and nickels, they have an honest-to-Jebus two-headed kitten floating in a jar. The hand-written price tag on it says it's going for one million dollars.

I kind of think there's something poetic about that. Well, poetic like the poems I used to write. Not really Robert-Frost-poetic, I guess. Someday, when I'm disgustingly rich, I'm going to buy that damn kitten.