Reading Saqqara's journal

How quickly we sink back into the old "groove" of things, no matter how long you've been away, or what you've done inbetween the time since you left.

Last Sunday, I joined my family for an outing. My mother and father love to go to the flea market about an hour from here, every Sunday. When I lived at home, I could read those two like a book. I knew every expression, every oft-repeated phrase, every joke and every quirk about them. As I slid into the Blazer behind my mother, that knowledge came flooding back.

My giant of a father, 6'10", lanky as can be, surveys the landscape as my mother drives. I think to myself, "He'll turn his head and watch as we pass my grandfather's old house. He'll comment how the new owners aren't keeping the lawn mowed properly, and that his bitch of a step-mother shouldn't have sold it."

Sure enough. Only instead of bitch, he chose hag. Censorship for the tranquilized little box of ADHD pinned down under a seatbelt beside me. If he hadn't taken his medicine, I wouldn't have gone.

I waited for my mother's response, which would either be a simple grunt, or an added insult to the owners of the house and the unkempt yard (looked fine to me, even the grass looked like it had been mowed at least a few days ago)/my step-grandmother.

"She was never a bright one, I'm sure all she saw were dollar signs when he died."

I almost wanted to chuckle. Chuckle... bad word. I wanted to laugh. Laugh hard. Laugh like you laugh after you've witnessed something so funny, you can't help but fall down, holding your sides, crying and laughing at the same time. You can't stop. You get the feeling of being unable to breath, it hurts, but hey, this shit is so funny, you can't stop laughing. That's what my family is, one big drama theater slash late-night comedy show.

My mother commenting about someone with dollar signs in their eyes. My mother is the cheapest person I know. If I didn't know better, I'd say she had a Swiss bank account and was hoarding money overseas for the day when she thought she didn't need my father anymore. My mother, the woman who bitched everytime I asked for more than a quarter. I know her so well, so well.

The thing I love most about my father, until it is directed at me, are his comments towards others. My father NEVER thinks before he speaks. He says his mind. Some of his best moments?

I worked for the deli in the local supermarket. I hated that job. It was only a summer job between college, but I hated it. I told him so. I told him about the fat bitches that asked prices they very well knew, then bitched about them. My dad grinned and said, "Here's what you do. When they ask about the price, and then bitch, you tell them, 'Well, whatever you've been eating must've been pretty cheap, because you sure as hell 'et a lot of it!'" I burst out laughing. I never do it, but I love it. Morbid humor I suppose you could say.

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My roomate and I were talking about me not having a car. He said I should tell my dad I wanted one of the many mopeds he was fixing up for my spoiled brother. My dad overheard and out of his mouth comes, "You'd have to lose weight girl (I'm always girl, never Ashley), you're too fat." That comment never bothers me coming from him, I've heard it ever since I slipped above a size 8. Timmy, my roomy, immediately starts giggling like a little school girl.

I wait, thinking in my head, here it comes boy, your turn to get burned.

Sure enough. My father chimes in before I can finish the thought. "What the hell are you laughing about fat boy? (my friends and I never have names) Those bracelets are loose on other people, on you, they are stretched apart as far as they can go." Timmy shuts up. I grin. My father and his bluntness just made my day. Morbid humor and all.

My mother, with something negative to say to everyone but herself.
My father, with his sarcastic but funny comments, and loud redneck way of talking.
My brother, with his ADHD, stayed doped up half the time on whatever the alternative to Ritalin is.

Despite all that.. secretly? It felt good to be home.

"It is much more comfortable to be mad and know it, than to be sane and have one's doubts."

This post was edited by Saqqara on Jul 26, 2005.

My brother, with his ADHD, stayed doped up half the time on whatever the alternative to Ritalin is.

Probably harsh tranquilizer. I know of people not needing their Ritaline, selling it as speed. Quite a nice income, I guess. 8)

Sounds like the typical American Solution, btw. Dope em out till they drop. The other alternative: Shop till ya drop.

cu, w0lf.

NP: Torment - Shop 'til ya drop

Multiple exclamation marks are a sure sign for a diseased mind!

Hail Odin!

You are way too funny for your own good, wOlf.

Hey, but Jesus is a personal friend of mine, and Mary said to knock you out. Just kidding. About the knocking you out part, I mean. Anyway, I could 'hang' with Odin. Just not for nine days, from a tree...no less.

As far as Saqqara's family...I get the picture. But it sounds like you love them overall.

If mountain goats like living at high elevations, why do none live in high rise apartment buildings?

This post was edited by rosyxxx on Jul 28, 2005.