now i am back in port angeles again after an exciting few days celebrating the baby jesus’ birthday in a hotel in downtown portland. christmas itself was fine though i think i was more excited about the presents i gave people then the people who received them were (i mean, my dad APPRECIATED the “truthiness” tshirt but he didn’t start screaming like the kids on that car commercial and the screaming is sort of what i was looking for).
anyway the high point for me came on the ride home when my brother (who came
back with us) (all 4 of us in 1 house? dangerous, i know) in a
100% unexpected strategic maneuver called me a racist. he has guts, my brother, and he isn’t afraid of the non sequitur either.
he has since rescinded the charge but still, for a moment there, he had me
both perfectly angry and perfectly confused and i salute his little
brother ability to irritate me so completely.
in other news, i got a digital camera for christmas. crazy because i didn’t openly beg for one or anything. which means soon i will be posting awesomely blurry pictures of jade in fred meyer and awesomely washed-out pictures of brian at the ash street saloon. i would do it now but i am distracted because:
1) my brother is wondering around asking me what i am writing about.
2) i developed a sore throat on christmas day.
3) on the drive home i became consumed with the idea of spending next semester writing about my trip to africa (good for people who talk to me because maybe then i could move on to another subject of conversation/obsession) and as soon as we got back to pa i found all the journals i’d written and the emails from me my parents had printed out while i was there and started reading them. they are partly really intense and partly hilarious because as usual with my journals, i mainly write
about boys and in this instance it’s funny because it’s like “what is sese’s deal? i can’t figure out how people in africa handle relationships and if he hates me or loves me or what. plus he is jealous of kagiso. my wound is oozing. i’m going to be.” this being THE ONLY mention (in my journal) of the dog attack and subsequent shot and stitches and permanent hole in my left ankle that i received on day about 6 of my trip. i wrote about these things in emails but this intrigue with sese
takes up weeks of journal entries. i would say something about how
ridiculous it is to be a 16/17 year old girl but the truth is i can
barely stand writing in journals to this day because all i talk about
is boys, and my journals are so boring, i can’t even read them (except the one from 6th grade which is totally embarrassing and totally funny, especially the entry about david smith and street fighter 2 and the day i completely ignored the 3 kids i was supposed to be babysitting).
so anyway, my hypothetical south african masterpiece should be interesting and it will definitely involve make-out scenes with african men between the ages of 19 and 30. are you on the edge of your seat yet? i am.
one of these days when i can’t think of anything to write, i will reproduce
a mass email i wrote the week before i left with the subject “almost
here’s some advice: never send your friends and family an email with the subject “almost dead [your name here]” if you are 17 and you are in africa and you hope to stay there.