I can’t really express what coming back to this house does to me, on so many different levels. I’m a kid again, and I feel keenly the distance between that kid and where I am now. The need to please my parents, make them proud, make them glad that they brought me into this world wars with my need to be my own person, and my mischevious irrational desire to spit in their faces.

I never had to /try/ to be the good one, you know? Joe got blamed for everything because he was usually at fault. As silly and retarded as this sounds, I really /was/ that innocent and good of a child. My outbursts included random bawling sessions, joining football in Junior High, and writing angry letters and poetry to my parents. I didn’t understand expressing the same things through getting into trouble. And now he’s not going to be here for Thanksgiving dinner. Just Dad, Mom, and I. I really miss him, and am going to miss seeing him, Grandma, and Aunt Carol. I’ll have to put it off till Christmas, and knee Joe in the junk for not bringing my Windows 98 SE CD here with him. And for not understanding how much all three of us are going to miss him at dinner.

89X is an orgasm for my ears after Lansing radio.

I’ve never fallen in love slowly before.

One of the last times I was here, I screamed at my dad amidst tears about how I’ve never, ever, EVER taken the easy way out. Since then, I’ve taken money from him so that I could live. Never, ever the easy way. That’s not what the Gods have in store for me. I’ve known that for years.

I kicked my Dad’s ass in Scrabble, by nearly a hundred points. I can’t remember being so clever in a long time. I enjoyed it greatly, and I think he did too.

I have this warm feeling in my heart and I want to cry.

I’m going to bring the PowerBook to the Xmas gatherings, just to say “look, I’m still not a failure… I’m still a success, look at me!” and the disgust I have for this desire turns my own stomach.

Yesterday, , , and bought me three 2-liters of Dew. Tomorrow, I will be leaving with a pack of 20 oz or 1-liter (haven’t looked yet) bottles from my parents. So many people with a desire to see me smile.

Knowing that I’m falling in love again scares the bejeezus out of me. I must not push away because of this fear. I must not run away. I must not run away. I must not run away.

As soon as I get them, Dad wants a stack of my business cards to spread around. He wanted to make sure that business in the Detroit area was OK, first. I could only blink for a couple of seconds.

Did I mention how cool 89X is? Cuz it is. Just so you know.

I’ve written so much in so many paper journals while I was in this house. Argh, I’m still upset with myself for losing ‘s clove cigarettes. I’ve done so many things worthy of praise in this house. I’ve done so many embarassing things in this house. I’ve done so much LIVING and GROWING UP in this house. Goddamn tins line the walls in this den, and it’s /creepy/ that it’s not /creepy/. Volunteer of the Year Award, Boy Scout Troop #208, 1991. US Naval Support Activity award, Danang, Vietnam. Bean-o-Rama. Boy Scout photos. Photos of Joe and I. US Naval Training Center, Great Lakes, Ill., graduation photo. Dale Carnegie Course completion certificate. Speaker pass for AMT Conference. His dad, standing in front of a MTU bus. A MSU banner. Twitch. Twitch. Ow. Ow. Ow.

My past is usually a very, very foggy thing. When I think of the extremes I lived in, the emotions that I experienced at any one moment, I’m overwhelmed. I… just… can’t… take… it. Four-point buck antlers. Red wings banner. The clock and desk that Grandpa Crampton built. Ow.

After figuring out my heritage, I’m more English than I am German, instead of the other way around.

BUCKFUTTERS!!

And nothing big has happened to trigger all of this. I guess this house just remembers me.