I know that the rest of the world has seen it, but zordac and I haven't because we never saw the ending to the actual series. We're waiting to borrow the last half of the fourth season from haabda.
You guys can talk about the show all you want to, but when I read two spoilers when I was just going to check out a doodle sketch, it's bound to drive a fan to madness.
But then again, I'm pissed already because Will left my Great-Grandmother's dining room chair out in the hell-sent tempest that lasted two hours last night. I discovered it this morning still on the front deck. The leather of the seat is ruined and the wooden is marbled with white splotches that can only be fixed by refinishing it.
He carried it outside to play cards on the deck yesterday afternoon. When we were finished, I grabbed the chair that kesterly was sitting in, and he left his outside. I didn't think to check. It's partially my responsibility for telling him that he could bring the chair out to sit on, and I could have double checked behind him. But should I have to go around behind my adult friends and make sure that they're not destroying the few nice things I own, especially the ones that my mother entrusted to me?
This is followed by several months back when he was leaning back in another one of the same dining room chairs and and cracked one of the legs. This was after I said, "Please don't lean back in the chairs." followed by "God damnit, I don't like nagging people. Do whatever you want."
Perhaps this means that I shouldn't have nice things at all. I don't want to turn into a materialistic bitch. But then again, I don't want to live in a plastic universe my whole life.
But when you have so little, you want to protect those things. I leave my doors open to all of my friends. I'm not a coaster nazi. My couch has had more feet on it than the ground surrounding the Muslim Kaaba. I think a home is meant to be shared. If you cordon it off, then it's just your own personal little museum. That's not me.
I found out yesterday that my Great Uncle Leon had died on Saturday. He was a beautiful person, and I'm not just saying that because he's dead. He loved everyone; he was a giving person. He never forgot a birthday or an anniversary. He was always happy to see you. Just a thoughtful, loving, giving, wonderful person.
Daddy didn't tell me until Monday. In fact, no one in my family told me. I try to see it from his perspective. He was shocked and grieving for his uncle. But I really do feel like I'm not a part of the family anymore. And that's partially my fault, too, for rarely going home.
This is all on top of my being so behind in my Chinese history research class that I don't know if I'll be able to catch up. I'm having second thoughts on a masters in history. More like eighth or ninth thoughts.
The storm last night left me quivvering under the covers. Storms, which I've never been afraid of before in my life, terrify me now. It's so much scarier living in a trailer, no foundation to keep you tied to the ground. The wind slamming into the side of the small metal box you call home.
And all these people around me and I feel so weak, like the hum of friends and people will vibrate and shatter me.