(no subject)
New! News of home, life, and a bird who likes me a lot.
Right, so... I may not have a place to live in soon. A guy came by the other day early in the morning and started telling my mom we have five days to leave (not counting holiday's and weekends). So, either Friday or Monday, we're supposed to be out of here. Except that no one's moving or packing or even looking worried. I can only assume that my dad's been using his trademark charisma in full force. And thank god for it. It's hard finding a place to live so quickly and outside is not where I want to be at night. I like indoor beds. I was worried enough about it that I had trouble thinking through anything this weekend.
The weekend. That held some spectacular idiocies of mine. Foremost in my mind was a nice recurring train of thought of bad. Not a happy time, to be sure, but I always get past it whenever it comes (which it's sure to do). The special part this time was the fact that I maybe can't go to state. Or nationals. Or pay for that last trip I just went on. Or for the food I got, most of the time. I've come to realize that, horror of horrors, I cannot stand alone. I don't mean this "I will own the world all on my own" type crap. I'd just like to be able to do anything outside of school without being a burden on everyone. And I can't. Someone has to pay for me, or take me somewhere, or vouch for me. I can't get into the goddamn movies without someone else, even if I managed to find a way to get there. I'm very literally worth nothing without someone else. I don't want to be all-powerful-awesome-man, but I'd like to be able to survive without constant need of help.
Now I shall segway into Pepe instantly. You will be amazed.
Weeks ago, my mom heard a bird squawking outside like all of hell was after it. She runs out and sees a hawk with a parakeet in its talons trying to fly off. The parakeet was giving it hell though. My mom grabbed a towel and smacked the hawk (Good Christ on a pogo stick...). The hawk dropped this green squawk box and flew away. Mom grabbed the parakeet and brought him inside. He's temporary abode (which he still lives in) is a cat-carrier cage thing. When I came home and saw him for the first time, I noticed something interesting. He was trying to open the door to the cat carrier by grabbing a bar and lifting up. I thought he was retarded, since the door swings sideways, but then I remembered birds do that when they've lived in normal bird cages, ones with the standard sliding doors. The doors that slide UP. So he's been in a cage before. He was not a wild bird. Turns out I was right. He was perfectly nice to humans even right off the bat (sans the whole oh-god-a-hawk-just-tried-to-eat-me fear). Current theory around the house is that he got loose somewhere, was flying foot loose and fancy free when that hawk decided to eat. Pepe, as we call our little parakeet, ended up with two neat holes in his sides from the talons and a broken wing. He never lets us close to the wing without causing some massive pain, so it set too much before we could get a sling. Now he has one wing about an inch lower than it should be. He can fly only a little bit, but he's staying in here, so it's not like it matters. He likes being pet. I've never seen a bird who likes being pet.
That is all.
Right, so... I may not have a place to live in soon. A guy came by the other day early in the morning and started telling my mom we have five days to leave (not counting holiday's and weekends). So, either Friday or Monday, we're supposed to be out of here. Except that no one's moving or packing or even looking worried. I can only assume that my dad's been using his trademark charisma in full force. And thank god for it. It's hard finding a place to live so quickly and outside is not where I want to be at night. I like indoor beds. I was worried enough about it that I had trouble thinking through anything this weekend.
The weekend. That held some spectacular idiocies of mine. Foremost in my mind was a nice recurring train of thought of bad. Not a happy time, to be sure, but I always get past it whenever it comes (which it's sure to do). The special part this time was the fact that I maybe can't go to state. Or nationals. Or pay for that last trip I just went on. Or for the food I got, most of the time. I've come to realize that, horror of horrors, I cannot stand alone. I don't mean this "I will own the world all on my own" type crap. I'd just like to be able to do anything outside of school without being a burden on everyone. And I can't. Someone has to pay for me, or take me somewhere, or vouch for me. I can't get into the goddamn movies without someone else, even if I managed to find a way to get there. I'm very literally worth nothing without someone else. I don't want to be all-powerful-awesome-man, but I'd like to be able to survive without constant need of help.
Now I shall segway into Pepe instantly. You will be amazed.
Weeks ago, my mom heard a bird squawking outside like all of hell was after it. She runs out and sees a hawk with a parakeet in its talons trying to fly off. The parakeet was giving it hell though. My mom grabbed a towel and smacked the hawk (Good Christ on a pogo stick...). The hawk dropped this green squawk box and flew away. Mom grabbed the parakeet and brought him inside. He's temporary abode (which he still lives in) is a cat-carrier cage thing. When I came home and saw him for the first time, I noticed something interesting. He was trying to open the door to the cat carrier by grabbing a bar and lifting up. I thought he was retarded, since the door swings sideways, but then I remembered birds do that when they've lived in normal bird cages, ones with the standard sliding doors. The doors that slide UP. So he's been in a cage before. He was not a wild bird. Turns out I was right. He was perfectly nice to humans even right off the bat (sans the whole oh-god-a-hawk-just-tried-to-eat-me fear). Current theory around the house is that he got loose somewhere, was flying foot loose and fancy free when that hawk decided to eat. Pepe, as we call our little parakeet, ended up with two neat holes in his sides from the talons and a broken wing. He never lets us close to the wing without causing some massive pain, so it set too much before we could get a sling. Now he has one wing about an inch lower than it should be. He can fly only a little bit, but he's staying in here, so it's not like it matters. He likes being pet. I've never seen a bird who likes being pet.
That is all.