Zombie Jacques,
I don't know that today. On one hand, I'm sorry you're pretty much guaranteed a shitty day today, and I really hope you were able to squeeze in at least an hour or two of sleep. On the other hand, your pretty cute when you're exhausted. And, by the way, you were very coherent and grammatical for four in the morning.
Hang in there today with the quizzes, though, and just power through. Bonne chance, Jacques. I'm rooting for you.
I have absolutely never heard of that show. I guess I don't know all that much about reality TV. It's an interesting concept, but how would we keep from recognizing each other's voices?
-Blue
God, I want to meet him so badly. I know I can't. I know it's too early, and I'm not really ready to come out to everyone just yet. But I want him, I want to know who he is, I want to see his face. I want to meet him so much. He is all I want. I don't care what he looks like. I just want him. But I'm so scared that I'm not going to be what he wants, that he will expect something more than me. That I won't be good enough.
Maybe it's also I'm just not ready for other people to know about me. I'm not ready for everyone in my life to see me differently. I know there are so many people out there like this, and it's not like I'm ashamed or anything. But its Georgia, it's hard to be anything different from the normal here.
Christmas is supposed to be one of the best holidays. Right? I mean spending time with your loved ones. Having hot chocolate when it is freezing cold outside, sledding, Christmas cookies, not having to go to school, the presets. Well, I'm half Jewish, so I don't really get to enjoy all of that. Instead, I go to a crappy cabin in the middle of nowhere and pretend to be the son he wanted. Act like I am not like I actually am, be his straight son. It's always cramped, awkward, and normally ends in an argument. My moms isn't much better. With her, I get to do Christmas at least. But it normally only lasts maybe an hour, if I'm lucky. And she is always sad, probably because my dad left around this time, and she feels more alone than ever. So really, I am not looking forward to the holidays. The only thing that makes me think I can stand the weekend with my dad is my emails with Jacques. Being able to talk to him, will make it okay, make it survivable.
So, I'm a little scared to read what I wrote you last night. I'm glad I was cute and grammatical. I think you're cute and grammatical, too. Anyway, I don't know what the hell that was all about. Too much sugar yesterday, I guess. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Yeah. I'm still so totally brain dead. I don't even want to think about how I did on my quizzes.
Don't know much about reality TV? You mean your parents don't make you watch it? Because mine do. And I bet your thinking I'm kidding.
You bring up a good point about our voices. I guess we would have to use some kind of robotic megaphone to warp them so they sound like Darth Vader. Or we could just fo other things instead of talking. I mean. I'm just saying.
Your Zombie Jacques
I love Jacque's email. I love that it's song lyrics. I love the song. I love that the song is him, of how much it really reminds me of him. I don't even know why I mean not the lyrics or the mood have anything to do with him, but the song just seems like him.
I should be writing an essay for English class. I'd rather write to you. I'm in my room, and I have a window right next to my desk. It's so sunny out, and it looks like it should be really warm outside. I feel like I'm dreaming.
So, Jacques, I have to confess that I've been curious about your email address for a long time. I finally broke down and consulted the Mighty Googler, and now I see that it's a lyric from an Elliott Smith song. I've actually heard of him, but I had never heard his music, so I downloaded "Waltz #2." I hope that doesn't freak you out. I really like it. It surprised me because it's a really sad song, and that's not what I would expect coming from you. But I've listened to it a few times now, and the funny thing is, it really does remind me of you somehow. It's you not the lyrics or even the overall mood of the song. It's something interchangeable. I think I can imagine you lying on a carpet somewhere listing to it, eating Oreos, and maybe writing in a journal.
I also confess that I've been looking extra carefully at people's T-shirts at school to see if someone might be wearing an Elliott Smith shirt. I know it's a long shot. I also know it's really unfair because I shouldn't be trying to figure out your identity when I don't give you any good clues about my own.
Here's something. My dad is driving in from Savanah this weekend and was doing the traditional Hotel Hanukkah. It will be just him and me, and I'm sure well hit all the awkward highlights. We'll do the non-lighting of the menorah (because we don't want to set off the smoke decors). And then I'll give him something underwhelming like Aurora coffee and a bunch of my English essays (he's an English teacher, so he likes getting those). And then he'll have me open eight presents in a row, which just drives home the fact that I won't see him again until New Year's.
And the thing is, I'm actually considering doubling down on the awkward factorand turning this mess into a coming out thing. Maybe I should capitalize that. Coming Out Thing. Am I crazy?
-Blue
Maybe I just should get the whole awkward affair over with. Just go ahead and tell my dad about it. It's going to be weird and uncomfortable anyway. So, I just should.
