My little brother and I have beef that won't be squashed for a while. I saw him last night and couldn't muster being evil and mean, but I couldn't be nice either. The most information that passed between us was that Dad NEEDED to speak with me.
"I'll let Dad tell you," he said. But see, my padre works the third shift and was unavailable when I learned this. So I figured I'd stay up all night, go to the Waffle House he always frequents when he gets off work and surprise him. To keep myself awake, I pondered what Dad might have to tell me. There were two distinct possibilities, I decided: either he's going to jail or he's won the lottery.
But I was tired so I settled for talking to him on the phone around noon.
For a 47-year old man with no sleep, he was damn chipper.
My mind stopped and time paused. Obviously, he isn't going to jail... so he won the lottery! Yay, I don't have to look for a job.
"My friend's coming to town later," he answered when I asked why he wasn't asleep.
His friend? Oh... okay, friend, right. Gotcha.
"My girlfriend," he clarified.
"Are you getting married? Is that what you have to tell me?"
"Huh," he said, "I don't have anything to tell you."
"Jeff said you did. He said you needed to get lunch with me and discuss something."
"No, I guess he was mistaken."
Damn straight he was. Well, that's fine. Dad sounds super happy and that's awesome but I'm a bitter goat child who doesn't want his parents to marry anyone but one another. And that's straight ridiculous. I thought that was gone. Yeah, when I'm 10 it's acceptible, but dammit, boy, you're almost 26 years old now. Let your folks date again without getting pissy.
He wants to get dinner Friday so we can meet her. And that sounds lovely in theory.
Man, I'm in a damn movie where parents date and marry and shit. I've been able to avoid that for almost a decade and a half. Now. Bah. I'll get over it. I'm just not used to it.
And before we got to all that, he asked how my business idea was going. For those who don't know, I have a brillaint plan but I haven't done shit with it since I wrote up the details. I'm missing my next step because I'm too damn melancoly to care. Instead of worrying about not having a job while I do nothing to get a job, I should be dedicating time to being my own boss for the rest of my life. He's excited about it and believes it'll work just like everyone else I've told. But you know what? I'm probably just going to fuck that up.
If I don't get off my ass.
Dad's gotten off his ass and is now kicking ass. He went from being embarrassed and depressed to confident and energetic. From hating Christmas to dating some chick from North Carolina. For the first time in five or six years, he has money to spare and wants to help. I don't know what to do with him.
Maybe I'll try to stop being like he was at his worst and follow who he's becoming.
Two Hornes. Great guys, big hearts and lots of fun. But inside, they're crippled. They won't do what they say they will do. They can't keep a promise. Lay it out, brother. The only difference in our illnesses is that he's never ever late anywhere but I always am.
Despite all this, life continues to hand me cherries or whatever the opposite of a lemon is. I like cherries.
Y-O, the poet goddess, called and confirmed that I'll be hosting Bragg Jam festivities down at the Rookery this Friday starting at 5pm. It should be great fun. I don't know if it pays and I could care less, but it sounds like a blast.
And tomorrow, I go to Atlanta. For Jaime's birthday, I bought Dave Matthews Band tickets. One for her and one for me. Robert Earl Keen opens. So she gets to swoon over the likes of Davey boy, while I can again enjoy the storytelling talents of Mr. Keen.
Hopefully before we do that, I'll be able to see Amidala. In part to continue the wooing of my future wife and in part to introduce her to my sister. My plan is to cook a meal we all share before the concert. It could be a blast. And I have lots of alcohol left over from the Saturday that drunkness forgot.
That is all.
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