Tuesday, 01/18/05 - 1:48 pm.
Shame on me, for procrastinating the entire morning. It took us (my nephew and I) three hours to watch X-Men 2...which is a nice movie, but gets dull at times. It's too long, I believe.
Wake up at 7:30, get up at 8, breakfast-shower until 9, do something useful until 10, Dawson's Creek until 11 (I know: me=dork) and then do something useful until it's time to prepare lunch. That's pretty much my morning routine. Just for the record.
Last night I cooked dinner. I prepared two long racks of ribs, and everybody agreed they were great. I finally learned to handle the grill, and yes, the ribs were great, even if I do say so myself. I prepared some sort of sauce with every bottle I could find, and even added jelly, for the lack of honey. Who knew. The sauce was delicious (even if I do say so myself).
Dinner was just spoiled by a chair incident that made my nephew Renan explode in screams and disrespect toward his parents. The ribs turned sour for a moment. You see, there's one adjective to describe these kids: intolerant. Plus, they'll never take responsability for something that's gone wrong. True, it was an accident, but he should've taken responsability for it.
Luckily, his (unjustified) rage passed, and by 8 o'clock everything was forgotten and he was sitting in front of the TV, ready to happily watch The French Revolution on The History Channel. How many 12 year-olds do you know that are genuinely interested in the french revolution? That I gotta give my nephew credit for. I watched it, too (ha, geek). I enjoyed it in its entirety, and I learned a lot (never heard of Robespierre before) but after a few thousands of people on the guillotine, I started to have a funny feeling around my neck.
I cooked ribs. Like, ohmygosh!
For a while it seemed I was going to stay longer in Houston, as I was saying yesterday. But it's highly unlikely that's happening, there are a few things against me (the legal custody of my nephew it's the biggest obstacle; as far as I'm informed, he -legally- can't travel on his own...or rather, without me).
If anything, I'll keep trying, maybe I can work something out. But in the end, it doesn't really matter how long I stay here, what's important is that I dare to take the next step and take the grown-upness I've developed here to my house. I'm 20 tomorrow, and I'll be 20 when I get home and go on with my life, on january 26th. I have to be 20, not 11.
I could start to number every reason why it's easier to be my own age here than at my own home, but I'm behind schedule on the dishes (see, I even do the dishes here!), and there's something I have to fix in the kitchen (see, I even fix stuff!).
It sucks, this tuesday in particular. It's officially my last day as a teenager, and today pretty much begins the countdown to the 25th, when I leave Houston. Somebody hand me a half-gallon of ice cream.
PS: Look, Joseph JUST wrote me (we were online at the same time). I already got four "happy birthdays" in advance. I miss you a little. Not so much, he says. It sure takes a huge effort to understand what he's written. He writes like a drunk with his eyes closed, with all those typos and mispellings, ugh. He'd better be good in bed.
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