Fingerprint of an Artist: Me, 1.

Mom had just finished telling me how my dad was a nutcase. I was mostly inclined to agree. What kind of father goes away on a weekend when their son has just gotten home from jail and intends to leave said son along, in an empty house, with just me?1

And from new information, I can make my own mind up in the long run.2

And they might finally decide to knock down that rotten old school in the center of town.3

It's difficult to listen to my mother for long stretches. She talks, and won't stop. If I ask her to, she'll start up right again in about a minute with some new topic she'd suddenly remembered, or read in a newspaper, or heard on the radio.4

I only listen to Oldies on the radio. They make me wish I lived back then, when (Mom was trying to talk, but 'Our Last Summer' was too loud on iTunes for me to hear her) the world was infectious with Beatlemania, music was real and good and sweet, and boys had good haircuts.5

Give me my Beatles hair, and I�ll be happy.6


- � ~ � * � ~ � -7


My brother is going crazy.8

I wonder sometimes how long it's taken. Perhaps all those years when our parents didn't work together on anything, or maybe since some kid called me a boy in camp the summer after second grade and he'd snapped at them, or maybe since he's realized life isn't always this bad.9

My mother and father have very few things in common. Both have dark hair, though my mother's has been gray for a long time (she hides it under brown dye) and my dad's is now more salt-and-pepper than anything else. They both wear glasses, though everyone in my immediate family does anyways. They like movies set in different eras- Dad likes cowboy movies and Mum likes period pieces with Colin Firth (or maybe I'm the one who likes Colin Firth).10

Most of all, they both can't stand each other.11

Sometimes, I can't stand either of them at all.12

Sometimes, I can't stand anyone at all.13


X___X14


I vaguely wish I could escape to England.15

England. That beautiful country that I've never been in, that holds all sorts of exciting things. Oversized clocks. Oversized houses- well, palaces, anyways. Overtalented 3-D artists who listen to my advice for some reason.16

Plus, France and Ireland are only a boatride away. A country that speaks the same language I do in French class, and a country that rolls with green hills and lilting music just like the Lord of the Dance opening song that�s playing with three minutes and fourteen seconds to go. When the Colleen of Ireland or someone in a white dress comes twirling around like a butterfly.17

Oup, now Michael Flatley comes out with his ridiculously fast-moving feet and tiny stature and boyish features.18

I wouldn't mind being able to dance like that. Hell, I wouldn't mind doing a lot of things. Playing piano like my friends Debbie and Daniella do, or playing flute like Gail, or being able to create masterpieces like my London friend. Exeter, London, whatever.19

They�re all far away to me.20

21

22

(Time for R&R with Saint Dracula. Don't forget your metaphorical socks that this song can rock.)23

I went to my friend's sixteenth birthday party today, and we saw Rent after stuffing our faces with food. Imagine, not even Sarit could eat any ice cream.24

We all played piano- or tried to, anyways. I played the song from Rent that has the numbers, and they said I had a good ear. My friend Daniella told me later if I took lessons, I'd be good at piano.25

If I wanted to, I bet I could be good at a lot of things.26

I bet I could even be good at running away. I do have three houses to run to, now. Daniella's, Rachel's, my cousins'. I'm saved.27


-~�~-28


I�ve noticed lately that people take too much notice of me. For example, my aunt has been quite verbal about her assurances that she won't let me live in the same house as my brother until he's fixed. She'll take me away from my own mother.29

And I have all these people worrying about me: mother, aunt, friends, teachers. I hate sympathetic teachers. It dampens their authority.30

And I don't want sympathy, not from them. Their kindness is undeserved: I'm not worthy of people being so nice to me. Bad times at home or no, I don�t want their sympathy. I don�t care about what I�ve missed in school. If I cared, I'd've done it.31

Maybe a month or two ago, I'd've done it.32

Not today.33

Not now.34

Now it's time to sleep, with Bear. (Bear has a rattle inside of him; I've had him since I was two weeks old. When I was small and bald and adorable and could use baby fat as an excuse not to be skinny.)35

(I don't care about excuses now.)36

37


3/18/06.38