Yesterday, there was this crazy flash flood/storm cell that ravaged the city.
It was cool to watch it approach from the East side... and watch it swallow up the casinos... and then eventually hit my house.
All was fine... up until the damn power went out.
Now, I'm used to the power being out for weeks at a time in Mexico (not sure if I've bitched about the summer where we had no electricity or water for two fucking weeks. TWO WEEKS! I wanted to die after the third day), and I've handled one and a half days of no electricity here, but it was never as hot as it was yesterday.
I was in the middle of fixing myself up to go out, when BAM! Bye, bye light!
Being in the dark makes me want to do two things: pray like an old lady, and draw.
I feel like it's colonial times and have nothing better to do while under candle light.
The praying thing happens if it's dark and stormy... I say this is due to the memories it elicits. My momma's mom was terrified of thunderstorms. One summer, we were stranded at the park, so we didn't return home until the rain was light enough for us to run home. By then, it was dark as fuck and the thunder had stopped. Grandma had been home alone, and since she was bedridden, she couldn't go anywhere.
When we entered the house, we noticed Grams was giving us the silent treatment. Mom finally got her to talk while D and I sat in the living room, and we heard the confession.
"It's because... I'm scared of thunder... and you left me here all alone."
Fuck. Mom cried when she exited the room and D and I felt like garbage.
My grandma never confessed to being scared of anything else (I mean, she even welcomed death... and that shit is something that I freak out about each time I feel like I'm about to pass out).
SO... when there's a thunderstorm out there, Grandma comes to mind and I think "Well... sure... I got some Hail Mary's and a couple of the Lord's Prayers in me to knock out. I guess."
As for drawing... I love it. Once I was over Dad trying to convert me to protestantism (we were having a good time sitting outside staring at the lightening... then he busts out with his usual shit that frustrates me. If you're going to refute Catholicism, please don't use arguments that will make me question you why you ONLY ruled out Catholicism's legitimacy and not just ALL religion in general... because I will... and you will proceed to accuse me of being a heathen.... which I am if we're going to be discussing logic. Now back the fuck off), I walked into the house and busted out the sketchpad.
THAT was the therapy I needed.
Don't get me wrong, I still feel like violently throwing up all over the place when I think of the lying, manipulative dumbass who infuriated me a while ago, but sketching is the drug that makes me forget everything.
Ah, such tried and true methods.
It was cool to watch it approach from the East side... and watch it swallow up the casinos... and then eventually hit my house.
All was fine... up until the damn power went out.
Now, I'm used to the power being out for weeks at a time in Mexico (not sure if I've bitched about the summer where we had no electricity or water for two fucking weeks. TWO WEEKS! I wanted to die after the third day), and I've handled one and a half days of no electricity here, but it was never as hot as it was yesterday.
I was in the middle of fixing myself up to go out, when BAM! Bye, bye light!
Being in the dark makes me want to do two things: pray like an old lady, and draw.
I feel like it's colonial times and have nothing better to do while under candle light.
The praying thing happens if it's dark and stormy... I say this is due to the memories it elicits. My momma's mom was terrified of thunderstorms. One summer, we were stranded at the park, so we didn't return home until the rain was light enough for us to run home. By then, it was dark as fuck and the thunder had stopped. Grandma had been home alone, and since she was bedridden, she couldn't go anywhere.
When we entered the house, we noticed Grams was giving us the silent treatment. Mom finally got her to talk while D and I sat in the living room, and we heard the confession.
"It's because... I'm scared of thunder... and you left me here all alone."
Fuck. Mom cried when she exited the room and D and I felt like garbage.
My grandma never confessed to being scared of anything else (I mean, she even welcomed death... and that shit is something that I freak out about each time I feel like I'm about to pass out).
SO... when there's a thunderstorm out there, Grandma comes to mind and I think "Well... sure... I got some Hail Mary's and a couple of the Lord's Prayers in me to knock out. I guess."
As for drawing... I love it. Once I was over Dad trying to convert me to protestantism (we were having a good time sitting outside staring at the lightening... then he busts out with his usual shit that frustrates me. If you're going to refute Catholicism, please don't use arguments that will make me question you why you ONLY ruled out Catholicism's legitimacy and not just ALL religion in general... because I will... and you will proceed to accuse me of being a heathen.... which I am if we're going to be discussing logic. Now back the fuck off), I walked into the house and busted out the sketchpad.
THAT was the therapy I needed.
Don't get me wrong, I still feel like violently throwing up all over the place when I think of the lying, manipulative dumbass who infuriated me a while ago, but sketching is the drug that makes me forget everything.
Ah, such tried and true methods.
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