These are my daily rants, stories, and what not.
I downloaded the Betty Crocker cookbook for my iPhone. It was free and I was curious. First thing I looked up was French Cinnamon Muffins. These were my favorite thing to bake all through middle and high school. Essentially you make fantasticly delicious muffins, then dip them in melted butter and then in a cinnamon-sugar mix.
I never said they were good for you, just amazing.
I showered last night. I now have an extra 20 minutes of free time this morning. Weird. Although I do like reading the news in the morning.
Listening to NPR this I was a little shocked at what states are now defining as candy. States like Colorado and Washington are now going to tax candy as a way to fill in budget deficits.
In order to do this they first have to define what is candy; and the determining factor as to what is or is not candy, is flour. That’s right. Because Twix and Kit Kats have flour in them they are not candy. But a Snickers bar that is devoid of flour is candy. I find it the most bizarre arbitrary way to define something as candy.
However I am envious of the guy who gets to sit there and have candy sent to his office to see if it is taxable as “candy” or not. I wonder if he makes secret deals with his favorte candy company to be supplied candy for life if he deems it not taxable.
I had this dream last night that was to weird not to write about.
I am in the passenger seat of Sarah’s car. She is driving. We’re heading down some country road with tall headges lining the sides. This car in front of Sarah has it lights on, which, because it is the middle of a sunny day, is driving Sarah crazy. So she decides to flash her brights at the car. After flashing her brights a few times the car slams on their brakes and pulls sideways blocking the road. It turns out it is a cop car. And he’s quite upset.
He pulls out a ticket book and is about to write a ticket when the car behind Sarah’s starts honking. The driver gets out and is pretty upset at being blocked. But then he sees the gun the police officer has, and pulls out his own gun from his car. The cop and him start laughing comparing their guns, they are both toy guns with the orange caps on the end of the barrells. The cop agrees to move his car, and starts driving down the road.
Sarah decides this is the perfect time to hide from the cop. She drives off the road behind the ledges in a little parking lot. I’m not quite freaking out, but do remind her that we are now hiding from the police. She laughs and says the cop was a jerk anyways. I see the cop driving the otherway down the road going exceptianally fast.
Then I wake. Weird weird dream.
I don’t have much going on tonight, I’ve been cleaning and going through old mail I never threw out. I came across a letter my mom sent me full of letters from PJ. To be perfectly honest, I don’t read all the letter PJ sends my mom, she forwards them in batches, and half the time I’m not sure I’m particularly interested in what they say. But I sat down and read the ones I came across tonight, and decided to write this. I don’t have PJ’s address (I’m sure I could find it), so as it stands this is unsent.
____________________________
PJ,
I’m not sure where to start. I mean we really haven’t talked in almost a year. For reasons that are obvious. And yes, I’m still disappointed. It lingers, what can I say. I’ve read some of your letters. Not all. There was a lot. And mom sends them a ton at a time. I hope you’re doing well in the army.
Things here go on as always. Up, down and back and forth. Its been a long year full of problems and also fulls of joy and fun. Cleveland is still a little lonely, but I’m getting more and more used to the city every week.……..
So I don’t know. I don’t know what to write or how to talk to you. I still think of how all I really wanted to do is get to know you. I mean I’m 31 and know jack shit about by brother. That’s all I wanted last summer.
So where does that leave us. I’m not sure. I don’t hate you, I love you, you’re my brother. But at the same time I don’t know anything about you, how to approach writing or talking to you, or even if I really want to. Its strange, but when I think about writing all that comes to mind is vagueness and generalities. I have nothing in detail that I really feel like sharing. You know so little about me and my life that I’m not sure that it matters what I write.
I guess I just want to write to say I do think of you. I do wish we had more memories as brothers, but really we don’t. For the last decade every time I feel like I reached out to you I feel like you shied away from it. Maybe everyone else in the family is fine, but I just don’t know how to approach you yet. I do look forward to someday getting to know you, one of my favorite memories of you is going out to that bar here in Cleveland for beers and playing the trivia and just relaxing together. 23 years you’ve been on this planet, and those two hours together are the highlight of my memories with you. And really that’s all I wanted. To shoot the shit, relax and get to know each other. There isn’t another member of our family that I wanted as a bigger part of my life than you, and there isn’t another member of our family I feel further apart from than you. You’re my only brother.
So again, I’m not sure where this leaves us. I really sat here and tried to think of a what to write to you. You’re my brother. If you needed anything, anything at all, I’d come running. And I mean that. At the same time I feel like I spent my whole life waiting for you to be at a place where our age difference didn’t matter and we could be friends as well as brothers, that we could have experiences together that mattered and build a good friendship around those experiences that could lead to us being closer brothers, and I had thought we’d reached that point; but I guess I was wrong.
When I was 18 and left for college you were 10, and we barely saw each other. When I was 22 and spent a year at home after college you were 14, and we had our own lives. When I was 28, and you were 20, you finally took me up on the offer to come live out in Buffalo with me. But that fell through after a month where we didn’t see much of each other even when living together. When I was 30, you were 22, and I was never more excited than the prospect of us spending the summer together getting to know each other, but that never happened. Now I’m 31, and you’re 23, and you’re enlisted for what I’ve been told is 6 years and I feel like I don’t know you at all, that other than our family connections I’ve got so little to go on. I’ve never had long talks with you about life like I have with everyone else in our family, never talked about shortcoming or triumphs with you. Again, I don’t know, I hope next time around, next time we have more than a day or two together get a chance to build those connections.
I guess, what it comes down to is that, I’m over being disappointed. Despite how I opened this letter, I am. It doesn’t matter what your reasons were; you looked up to me, you were afraid of letting me down, you didn’t like expectations, whatever. It doesn’t matter. I am sad that I didn’t have the time and experiences I really wanted with you to get to know you. You’re my brother. I want nothing but the best for you.
~AJ
Dear broken toe on my right foot,
Ow.
Yours truly,
AJ.
