Okay San Angelo, okay.
I need to write about my house some day. How almost paradoxical we do live here. What living here has done to us, given us, taken from us.
The foundation of my house was built in 1905. We’re in the middle of the city, downtown is a few streets away. Most everyone in this neighborhood is an old contributor to this city, somehow. The wallpaper is dated, skipping the awful 70s and 60s and somehow surviving the 80s but come from an entirely different era, one of chandeliers (we still have two chandelier light things, one in the foyer and dining room) and old class like the 1920s. The windows are large and wide, even the floors will tell you stories in their creaks from the talkative boards, the wood ridges you feel as you walk around barefoot. The downstairs is always chilly. It gets so dark in some places you can’t even see your hand in front of your face. The “secret” smaller stair case from the upstairs right into the back downstairs kitchen, tells a story I’m sure.
You barter with your siblings to get you things when they go downstairs to get you snacks, and you take demands from your parents to get them a drink when you go downstairs. You know which door is opened by the squeak it has just made and who is coming up the stairs by the weight of that person shifting the floorboard, each person has their own custom noise. You wonder how the ancient doorknobs and doors of each room have survived till today. You wonder all that this house, your house has known, and you wonder how you could ever leave it.
Yes I need to write about this house.
Finally busted out of the house to study and now I’ve actually started working but my sister ordered me this sexy caramel macchiato and the espresso is doing crazy stuff to me I mean look at my run on sentences everywhere and if you were to walk into this cafe thing you’d totally be able to spot me because I’m in the corner all angsty and in black and grey and totally in a genre of clothes my little west Texas city doesn’t even have a name for.
Just LOL at everything
at least I haven’t seen anyone from high school! :D
Can I go home now?
I’ve been looking for this picture forever. It’s my house. By the time I get to come back in December it will look like this. Grass dry and brown, my dad’s little boat out by the side, and our wreaths on every window. The foundation was built in 1905, the windows are huge, and the wall paper is more ore less original, the wood floors creak, and depending on who’s coming up the stairs you can tell by the song the floor sings, unique to each family members weight. We have one cat and he’s king of the house. This picture is old though, we crashed that car, I was actually in the car, it sort of flipped. I was fine, messed up my foot but I’m all healed now.
Late night Whataburger with my little brother <333 I love him! He brought the vegetarian a grilled cheese on Texas toast! The best. I was lost in the stupid feels earlier but now I am touched by his 15 year old self and have something to sincerely smile about :D
I hate my neighborhood. It’s filled with rich snobby beautiful people.
My hatred for them doesn’t consume me,
it’s merely an annoyance that rises to the surface whenever I am home.
These people I’ve known all my life and still can’t stand, it’s a breath of fresh air that none of us go to the same university but breaks such as summer and winter we’re all STILL in the same area, as if I can run away to New York all I want but still my parents house is close to theirs…and by default at times I am still close to them…which I loathe.