It's not yet the 22nd here, but it's a mere 3 hours away now, give or take a few milleniums.

My little brother is intensely, well, hilarious, but in a mind-numbingly stupid sort of way. Let me explain: My father is watching the Discovery Channel upstairs in his bedroom, our satellite dish is connected to two television sets and both are always on the same channel, and whatnot. Well, he comes in laughing his proverbial ass off, and hands me the remote, telling me to go hit "info", which lists what the program is about and what happens to be on that particular channel. I'm curious as to why he's laughing so hard, so I go try it myself.. I hit info, read it, nothing out of the ordinary.. a show about wolves. He laughs louder. I'm getting suspicious at this point. "What's so funny you chump?" "Hit it again!" So I do. Re-reading, trying to find some little detail I might have missed, possibly the word "mating" or something along those lines, since he is still quite immature and easily amused by anything pertaining to sex. Nope. And yet, he laughs louder still, rolling around on the floor now, just laughing and laughing. Finally I just say, "Alright, tell me or I'm going to lay the smack down!" "HAhAHAhaha*, every time you hit info, it's driving dad crazy upstairs, and he's going to come downstairs and yell at you for hitting info so many times!" At this point, I start laughing, not because it was a good prank, but because he found that so intensely entertaining. Kids.. you know? Yeesh.

So any way, I'm immeasurably content tonight, it's one of those dreamy evenings that remind me of how things used to be when we lived in our own house and we had what seemed like infinite amounts of time left in the world. Those times when I couldn't grow up fast enough, when I would saunter off on my own and sit in the fort made of old split rails. I used to sit in the living room when my dad would turn the lights off and lay in his old comfy chair and listen to Cat Stevens for a few hours, relaxing after a hard day of work. I'd sit there just because I felt closer to him, even though we never talked.. it's funny how things change, funny how time drifts by and leaves me wondering why I left so many things behind, why I didn't carry them right along with me.

This is a daylog for June 22, but being that exactly one month from this date, I'll be heading into my nineteenth year of life, I just feel like reminiscing a bit.

We used to have pet chickens, five of them at any given time, though we lost a few (one was run over, another died of a heart attack). We raised them basically from a few days after they left their little shells, four roosters and one hen. Clementine was mine, and Chanteclair, the biggest rooster, he was nearly the size of a turkey when all was said and done. Clementine was a sweetheart, I'd carry her around and she'd sit quietly with me, eating seeds from the palm of my hand. Eventually, with all of those rooster's around, Clem'y ended up laying a bunch of eggs.. I remember the day they started hatching, I helped one out of its shell. That was the neatest day ever, I think. It's too bad shortly after they hatched we had to bring them all to my grandmother's place, as we moved into a tiny little apartment that wasn't so country-ish, or ideal for pets at all. The rooster's were kind of mean after a while, though, we didn't mind. We'd taunt them, try to get them to chase us around the yard and then we'd bolt for the front door as if they could have done much more than peck at us a bit. It seems all so hilarious now, the time I threw my blanket and the little cassette player I was carrying at Raptor, the second biggest rooster, because he came after me as I walked across the lawn. I was so angry until I ran to the house and was telling my sister and she started laughing. At first, her laughter just made me angrier, until I realized that it was a chicken, not a three horned monster from the fiery pits of hell.

I loved my childhood.. I miss bits and pieces of it really, quite a bit even. All in all, things haven't changed that drastically, though, just enough that when an evening like this comes along I cherish it. Nothing really out of the ordinary happened to make it this way, I think that's part of why it's like this at all..

At My Funeral

...I want there to be music, and smiles and reminiscing of these things that I remember, perhaps that's why I've placed them here, so they're not lost to others. (I've no fear of losing them myself, whether I should or not, they're stored nicely in the luxury suite of my brain.) I don't plan on dying any time soon, but I'd hope that when I do there are a lot of sad people, but sad only because it's the end, not because there was never anything, or worse yet, there is regret. I don't want a lot of people crowded around a casket sobbing as it's lowered into the ground. I've always been one to cry when others do, and I don't like the tears that sadness brings (not all tears are unwelcome). I'm not sure why I'm thinking about my death at all tonight, I think possibly because I'm completely content with life, and subsequently death doesn't seem like such a frightening thing.

At My Birth

...They smiled a lot, I know, and there were good tears, though I couldn't see them. The striking similarities between birth and death.. I don't ever intend to leave completely, I'll always float around in the universe as the little breeze that blows across the face of a distressed little human in the dead heat of summer. I want to be a relief, a sweet little reminder that life is so amazingly beautiful and full of this intense stuff, these memories and occurrences. I could cry now, if I wanted to.. cry right along with his voice, have I mentioned that "Footsteps in the Dark" is one of my all time favourite compilations of f#$*ing brilliantly amazing music? Well, it is, it always will be...

I need to clean my room today.