Howdy from the West Coast. Another update from California. While I had originally planned only to stay until Monday, a few folks convinced me to extend my stay. Thirty dollars worth of airline fees and five days later, I’m still here. My cousin Spencer just dropped me off at base camp—at his parents’ home—from his new pad. It’s nice. This was the first time in fifteen years that we spent any amount of time together. I enjoyed the space and the time, though he just reminded me of an incident that occurred during our last and first meeting.
I was eight and more than a little squeamish around blood, especially my own. So when I busted my knee on a strange road in a foreign land while biking I just about fainted; he and his twin brother, Evan, had to drag me home. I’m not embarrassed at all that he remembers and thought to remind me of it now that we’re twenty-three. Truth be told, I’m still not entirely over the blood thing; I am most sensitive to my own bodily fluids—I don’t really care if others are bleeding to death. As long as I’m okay, things are fine, thanks to the movie industry and their constant, graphic portrayal of extreme violence. Yet I really like receiving shots of novacane at the dentist’s office. When I was in high school, sometimes I would chew Orajel until my face went numb.
It’s unfortunate that we live so far apart. I’m starting to really dig this family thing. Think about it: automatic friends without the trouble of being friendly. It’s not a bad deal.
For all of those you back East [and elsewhere], don’t worry. I miss you constantly, and the several of you who have forgot the three-hour time difference have very successfully woken me up in the wee hours of the morn’. Don’t think that because I didn’t pick up that I didn’t wake up. But I do appreciate your calling, naturally.
Is this a blog entry or a love letter?
Anyway: with all my heart, good night.