My Year with Grandma

Dear Diary

Dear Diary or Journal or whatever,

I sit here in this crazy cat lady over-stuffed chair in the room that has been my prison for the last week or so writing in this notebook I found on the nightstand this morning. There was note on it saying I should journal my thoughts, so I guess if it keeps me from talking about my feelings to actual people here, okay. Here we go.

I've lost all track of time here. I have no idea what day of the week it is. I'm not even sure what month it is. So much has happened in such a short time that I scarcely know how to process it all. For one thing, I'm sober for the first time in like a year. Yeah, I know, weird. I mean it feels weird. Kind of a good weird, but still weird. I like being high. Mainly because it makes me numb to pain. I don't have to deal all these crazy teenage emotions. The bad part of being high all the time though, is not knowing what memories real, and which ones are just me trippin. Like, I totally remember May kicking the door open on the plane and being sucked out into the sky with her, but she insists it didn't happen. Apparently, the skunk chase didn't happen either. But there IS a skunk here! I've seen Gram pet it though my window. I've also seen at least four dogs and God knows how many cats. I hate cats. No, Jude hates cats. Jude. I have some memories of him I hope nothing more than a bad trip. I'm scared they might be real though. God, don't let them be real. I hope he's okay. I haven't seen him since he picked me up in that truck, we all got busted in. I know he was being held in jail for his court date, but I don't know if that was because his folks wouldn't bail him out or he didn't have bail set. I'm not even sure what his charges were. I'm not allowed internet access here so I can't look it up. I can't have the phone either so I can't call Mom and ask.

I hate it here. I have never been so bored in my life. No TV, no phone, no internet, nothing. Just endless acres of farmland and animals. The nearest house I can see through my little window has got to be at least a mile away. All the buildings nearby are part of this house. There's a big red barn, of course; what farm would be complete without one? There's a small shed that May said was a processing kitchen where they bring in the harvest and put it up for the winter. Next to it was another shed looking place that Gram said was the school/craft/sewing room and a meat processing building behind the small kitchen. There's always something going on outside. It's like these people never sleep. They're up and working before the sun comes up and when the sun goes down, they sit out on the porch playing music and singing country-fried God songs. I hate Christian music. I hate country music. I especially hate the two mixed together. But just about every night, these folks got to have a good old-fashioned gospel hoedown. I could just peel a vein.

Yesterday, I woke to the sound of cows mooing rather loudly. When I looked out the window, I saw the Tuna dude on a horse trying to get some cows to go through a narrow fence thing to load onto a trailer. That kid, Mackerel was also on a horse helping him, while Jimmy (my dad's brother-guess that makes him my uncle, right?) hollered from the side of the trailer. Once the cows were all loaded, Jimmy swung the door shut and locked it. He looked up at my window, bowed flamboyantly and sarcastically saluted with two fingers. I think he's a bit too cocky for a cowboy. Mackerel is kind of cute though. He looked good in those tight jeans and sleeveless t-shirt. My imagination is going to have good time with that boy. (don't worry – I'll keep that solely in my imagination). I then watched them as they put the horses away before driving away with the trailer full of cows.

Gram just popped in with some clothes. I guess I have five minutes to get dressed and come down for dinner. I'm tempted to ignore her. But since I'm actually hungry... I'll come back to you later, Journal. Bye for now.