I've summoned the stampede of infidel feet

Time to get down to it. Not running tonight so I might as well write. It has been a great few days - actually the comment I find myself making most, especially to K is that fairly recently I've come to the conclusion that I have never felt this well adjusted in my life. How grand.

The sun came out while I was walking to work today and I was thinking about how Rugbey (yes I named my hard drive, and yes after my dead rat) almost sad mac'd yesterday and how it was fucking irritating that I'd have to put off getting a new bike. Well well well, got to work and Eddie offered me his awesome vintage Norco. I hope the frame is tall enough, but Luis and I can work on it I think. Life is rosy no?

To completely digress into non sequitur, as I was talking to Ethan last night my mom came into my room and asked for my attention. She handed me an envelope and told me to read what was inside and discuss it with my friends and find out what I think and what we should do about it. Again - when did I become the de facto adult in the household? Since when do people come to me for advice on my sixteen year old half brother?

sidebar: there's a mosquito bite on my right hand and it fucking STINGS.

So I open the envelope and read this in class "essay" that my dear sibling had to write for his Grade 11 English class. It was supposed to be a comparative essay between mediums - I guess meta analysis. Instead of doing this my brother decided to write about how "jokes" the class was, how nice his teacher's Acura is, how he nor anybody else in his class read anything and just use "sparknotes". My personal favorite was the part where he wrote about Catcher in the Rye. Specifically that Holden Caulfield was "teh ghey" and that if "I ever met that kid I would fuck him in the ass". My dear brother wrote this in an in class essay. As Ethan says "he should be studied". Now I'm kind of insulted at this point because I tried to help him with Catcher in the Rye by rereading it while he was and the memory that sticks out is sitting on K's couch and laughing my ass off at this book. Moreover, one of those lame facebook quizzes said I was theoretically a literary similarity to J.D. Salinger - so I won't let my brother fuck my baby in the ass. That's just wrong on SO many levels. But the point of this whole thing is - I don't know what's going on with this kid, because sometimes I find myself actually thinking "if I weren't related to you, I'd want to be your friend". I guess it's a good thing N and I ended and I had to move home after all that time on my own, because this kid needs me around.