Chapter 35
Journal Entry for Monday February 9, 1998
Mom's reaction when I pulled into the driveway in my brand new Jag was priceless. I still haven't figured out what I'm going to tell her about all the money. I snuck it in the house a little later on in the day yesterday when she had to leave to go get more frosting for my cake.
I counted it up, and the total amount in the two storage bags equals $9,997. I thought my thumbs were going to bleed before I got through counting it all.
But back to what I was writing about before, I'm just not sure what to tell mom about how I got the money. I'm debating on dad's special bank account story, but I'm not sure whether or not she's going to buy it. And, though I'm not a very materialistic person, I hate the thought of giving up ten thousand dollars; just forking it all over to police because it's drug money.
There's so much I could do with this money. I could actually put it in a bank account and let it earn interest and use it to help pay for college. Or I could invest it in some kind of bond.
That makes me think of the time when Brad, Mark, and I decided we wanted to invest the money from our savings bonds (fifty dollars each) by buying baseball cards, but wound up buying an autographed Andy Pafko race car instead. Long story short, the investment crashed, literally, and we wound up losing a total of $150.
Good God, look at this. I have spent the past five paragraphs writing about nothing but money. I think that's more than I've ever written about money throughout my whole entire life.
But the Jag and the crop of cash weren't the only highlights of my sweet sixteen. Mom baked a cake (with grandma's help so it would be edible), and it actually tasted pretty good. Brad and Mark chipped in to buy the next book in the Midnight Louie mystery series, Cat on a Hyacinth Hunt. (It is in hard back, so it isn't that cheap). Mom got me a new watch since the one I have keeps dying. I'm not kidding, I took it in to a shop that fixes watches a few weeks ago, and the man who worked there told me what my problem was. See, I was wearing a Rolex, which according to the man at the watch repair shop, is not a watch, but is a piece of jewelry. Grandma gave me fifty dollars (ah cash, the great old standby gift of grandparents. It's fit for a child at any age!).
On the opposite side of the spectrum of all the aforementioned, I got a not so great surprise yesterday evening. I was watching The X Files when my nose started bleeding. It wouldn't bother me so much, except for the side that is bleeding is the side that has already been cauterized! And to think that Dr. Mabry wants to do a cautery on the left side too!
I'd really like to know what the hell is causing it to bleed. As David Duchovny (Fox Mulder) would say, "the truth is out there". Maybe he and Gillian Anderson should come and investigate my nose. That'd probably be the one mystery they couldn't solve. Hey, at least then I could go and be on Unsolved Mysteries. Maybe I could even get Robert Stack to interview me!
Okay, now I am officially just rambling for the sake of writing.
Something just dawned on me. I can't show this journal entry to my damn psychiatrist. (No, he'll never be Dr. Sydney Elliot to me). If I did, even though there's the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing, he'd still have to report the drug money that dad gave me to the authorities. Oh well, I guess February 9th just wasn't meant to exist. I guess I'll just tear this one out and cut it up with scissors.
Okay, if I'm going to do that, why do I keep writing? And look, I'm still writing!
-Randy (I'm like the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going…)
A/N: Hey, maybe next time I update, it will be sooner than a month!
Anyways, please R&R, otherwise I'll have to sic Scully and Mulder on you. (And I don't think that you want David Duchovny stalking you, especially after his…issues he was having last year).
Thanks for reading, and remember people, the truth is out there.
-Yours truly, Randy Taylor