eat my muffinhead

I'm climbing into my father's car today and it's humid. When he's upset this cold steam rises from his shoulders and pollutes the air, but he never says anything. I ask him, "Are you unhappy?" and he says no, shrugs it off, makes small talk, until the, "well I'm a little disappointed you didn't tell me you were going away this week."
And he tells me all these things about myself and people and relationships. How there are always cracks between people and a central relationship is one part of your life, but if you spend all your time trying to pave over the cracks and make one relationship perfect you won't have time for any other parts.
I'm full of righteous indignation, as usual when someone tries to oppose my view of my future, but I can't help but think
I am just like everyone else. If I've learned anything it's that what I ever have to struggle with is the same thing billions have struggled with before me. I am effected and controlled by the same electrical impulses, by the same synapses, the same hormones as all the human race. To follow my own passions, even in relationships, perhaps it's useless. passions have been done before, right? Have they always failed unless needlessly tempered?
My father's psychology analogies have permeated my thinking. Where I used to see the searching squid tentacles of common interest/liking reaching out between people I now see cement sidewalks, broken during the thaw.
I've thrown carpets over some of the cracks in the sidewalk squares, and i'm trying to pad lightly so i don't sink in, but I've only got a little bit of cement and I'm gonna keep trying to make this one square perfect.
cause astroturf too fuckin' expensive
-adrienne, 1:45 a.m. aprox. 47 hrs until return to wa. smoked: yes. tired: no. harmless: tonight.