Used To

Dec. 22nd, 2008 11:34 pm
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I used to write all the time.

I've been thinking about this one short story of mine I wrote a few years ago.

I've been trying to find it somewhere, because I'm really quite proud of it and it's kinda-sorta Christmas-y.

Me and B had another discussion about how we knew each other before I moved here. Every so often we try to gather evidence to prove, once and for all, which summer it was that he and I and my cousin and his other friend went surfing every morning. In my head, I think it was 1996, when I was twelve, but in his head, he thinks it was 1998, when he was twelve and I was fourteen. (Yes, I'm older than him...) I think I'm right. I think him being only ten explains a lot about why I barely remember anything about him - ten and twelve is a big difference, and I probably dismissed him as just a kid. I really don't think I was fourteen, because that would have been the summer right before I got hurt, and I have a very distinct memory of coming back here the next summer and my cousin having a job and nobody from the summer before being around and being really bored. And that wasn't the summer after I got hurt. So... it must be somewhere in between. Maybe it was 1997 and we're both wrong.

But besides that, we've pretty much concluded that we came in contact with each other even before that summer, cause he's been to more of the P's family picnics that I have, lol. We probably played soccer and capture the flag and stuff with each other when we were really little.

Memories are such strange things. I think it would be so fascinating to really remember one of those days, instead of just bits and flashes and concoctions my brain makes up to fill in the gaps. I think I should make a project of seeing if I can go through my aunt's pictures of her kids and see if I can find any of me and B in them. There have to be some. I might be starting to obsess over this... but those pictures, whatever they are, probably do exist. There are tons of pictures of me and Ryan at family get-togethers. If B was at a bunch of those, well, there are probably pictures of all of us.

And it seems so absurd that we didn't really recognize each other right away, or even for a while, and for a while I thought that he did recognize me and just didn't say anything because he knew I didn't recognize him, but he swears that isn't true. He swears I look different - or different enough, anyway, and I guess he does too. Well, of course he does. And of course I do. Nobody looks the same as they did when they were a kid.

Anyway. My cousin Ryan is coming home tomorrow, and I can't wait to see him. I mentioned to B that Ryan was coming home and now we're all supposed to hang out before Christmas. I'd really like to find those pictures like, now, but I guess that's not going to happen. It'd be cool, tho, to show them to the two of them.

I'm super excited. B isn't going to be around for Christmas - he's going to NY to visit his mom. But that's fine, because Ryan is sticking around for at least a few weeks. I love hanging around Ryan. Unfortunately, between the two jobs, I dunno how much time I'm actually going to have. But I'll make do with what I got!
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All right, well, not that I'm terribly happy about turning twenty four and still having a shithole of a life, I have to admit, I'm doing a bit better than I was for my twenty-third birthday.

To make a very, very long and sob-inducing story short, Krissy and I don't see each other any more. I can't say we "broke up" because we were never officially "together," but... yeah. We don't see each other anymore. For one thing, the distance was starting to be a problem. Her driving over an hour to see me was one thing, but her driving over an hour to come pick me up was something else entirely - I don't live anywhere near any kind of public transportation that can get me to Philly. I mean, there are busses and trains in and out of Atlantic City, of course, but, what, am I going to fucking walk to AC? So no. And her coming over here is just... was just, I should say... but, this is a dry town. There are no bars. And the other towns around here, they're tourist towns, really, and when it isn't tourist season, they're just little hick towns and it's just not the same as Philly and she certainly wasn't impressed. And of course my house isn't terribly impressive or even comfortable, either.

I met Krissy's family. I think that was the last straw. We don't belong together, her and I. That was made perfectly clear.

I don't belong in anyone's life.

I still work in the restaurant a couple days a week, cause I get a ride from my downstairs tenants, which is cool. And I have a part-time job at a coffee shop a few blocks from here, near the bayside. That's an okay job. The first floor of my house is rent-able now, which is cool I guess, and I'm renting it to these two Haitian kids who are always speaking French and stuff, I can't understand them half the time even when they're speaking English. I met them at the restaurant. They're cooks. Um, so, I finished the first floor up, mostly, decently enough, anyway, in October, and they moved in right away, which leaves the second floor for me, and I've been slacking on making the second floor rent-able too.

And the second house is totally stalled because of zoning bullshit that I have no clue how to get around. I need, like, some type of knowledge I seem to be lacking, or something.

So, yeah, I live on the second floor of my own house, go me. I have fallen down my own stairs about once every other week. It's great fun.

I, ah, lost my driver's license, also - I don't really want to talk about that. It was my own fault and it was stupid, and I almost went to jail or something. I'm a fucking idiot, to tell the truth. So, anyway, my downstairs tenants drive my car. And drive me to work, conveniently.

I'm so fucking poisonous. I don't know why everyone doesn't hate me. Oh, for all I know, they all probably do. The ones who count, anyway...

Daniel...
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I have turned twenty three now. Good for me. All this getting older, what an accomplishment it is!

I stayed at the print shop really late last night and got stuck in Philly. I could not get back to Camden; the only way would have been to take a cab and I, of course, didn't have the cash. I almost called Julia, cause she's really the only person I know here anymore, but then I thought I might go back to the print shop. By then I was kinda far from it, and had to walk all the way back there, but I did get back inside, although I was afraid I would trip some kind of security alarm. Maybe that sticker on the door is fake?

Anyway I spent the night there and it was fucking freezing cold. Gee, what an exciting life I lead, staying out all night and whatnot.

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Lara I.

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