Goats and Stuff

As you know, I am desperately trying to convince my mom to let me live at my dad’s. Now that Jason has his driver’s license, that might happen. On Friday, my brother drove me to Becca’s where Craig would take my little cousin and me to school. He picked up Becca and then drove to their school. After school, Jason had a job interview, which went great, and picked me up from Mom’s house. We got to my dad’s house at 6:00, the time my dad usually picks us up from my mom’s.  We ordered pizza, so when Dad got home from work he could have a bite to eat.

I like that. I want it to be like that. Not only were we happier, but the independence felt great. The only problem is my controlling mother. She says “she doesn’t want to give up with how far she’s come.” I’m not exactly sure what that means, because she lost us a long time ago and she fails at life, but somewhere deep in her mind she’s referring to the third of my dad’s pay check that she gets for child support. Whatever.

I might as well tell you a story while I’m talking about my dad’s house.

About a week ago, Cindy, (“lady friend”) came over. At maybe nine o’clock, we gave her a tour of our garage. We stood there and talked about the neighbor, Michael, and how he wants everything to be natural. He doesn’t cut the grass, use weed killer or anything. He also complains that our music is too loud and it’s disturbing his sleep. Cindy was getting ready to leave when she looked at the neighbor’s uncut lawn and said, “Goats! They need goats!” We started making weird jokes about goats and said we would be on the lookout for homeless goats roaming the city streets.

On Friday, Cindy kept calling my dad. He would walk away, laughing so hard that he could probably be heard on the other side of Good Hope.

Keep in mind this is at eleven thirty at night.

At one point, he couldn’t stop laughing, so I went up to him and said, “Shhh! Michael and the goats are trying to sleep!” The joke was probably really funny to him due to the fact that he had a couple beers…

After he hung up the phone, I talked to him about the universe and all of those theories about the universe expanding into something, etc.

I said, “Maybe humans really aren’t that smart. Maybe there is a greater being out there that’s studying our habits like we’re lab rats. We might actually be really stupid.” And then he’s like, “Well, being you’re dad, sometimes I feel dumber than a box of rocks.”

And now I feel really dumb because I can’t figure out if that was supposed to be a compliment or not.

Anyway, Steve was there too, and unfortunately he kept calling me Chewie. (That’s a story I’ll have to tell you later.) But after sitting in the garage, talking with Steve, Jason, and my dad, I was so content. I wasn’t worrying about anything or anyone. I was actually at peace.

I got sidetracked. I don’t know where this is going.

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