Hello again internet (and a gracious thank you to a certain Theo as my first and hopefully not last follower) on this fine Sunday. Nathan and Artemus have gone to their job as singers at a church and I'm sitting in the back room next to Stella in the spot on the bed I managed to usurp from Jerry, staring at the celery and wishing it would chop itself for tuna salad. Anyways, yesterday was the day I had dreaded for about a month or two as the day Nathan and friends had decided to go to the Renaissance Festival in costumes which I had been so kindly "asked" to provide and had of course put off making until the night before. I finished around 7 or 8-ish something in the morning and finally broke down and decided to go myself despite having sworn I wouldn't this year. I actually had a pretty fun time for the most part despite being the only one out of costume (a strange reversal of norms) and of course I didn't get to do the kind of shopping I would have liked. I did wind up getting a pair of lovely troll ears made to match my skin and everything - they looked AMAZING! It was all going wonderfully until the end when poor Arte ran into his parents.
I should explain - there's some rather nasty history there I won't go into and wouldn't know half of even if I did since the poor dear doesn't speak of it much. All I'll say is it must've been ghastly enough for him to move here of his own accord. Jokes aside though I felt utterly terrible for him - I still do. Making matters worse is the fact that I can never seem to say the right things around him - it's like my brain turns to jelly and all I manage to do is guffaw and spout idiotic catchphrases and the like. I wish I knew how to tell him that I really do care about him, that he's family to me. I wish I could explain myself to him sometimes, or that I knew what he was thinking and knew how to comfort him. I love him - something I do not say lightly - and I wish I knew how to say it without making it some awkward nightmare or making him miserable or uncomfortable.
Truth be told he reminds me a lot of myself when I first managed to get away from my mother, when I first moved in with Nathan. I was 16, sick, practically shell-shocked. It took me years before I learned to trust people, before I realized that not everyone was only looking out for themselves. It took me so long to realize that his family really cared about me, that I was allowed to be human, allowed to be happy. I remember spending much of my first year in silent dread, wondering when they would've had enough of me, when they were going to kick me out on the street, or send me back to my mum's. I barely spoke to anyone, ate either nothing or too much, slept only about 3 hours a night. Being around my mum would make me physically ill to the point I'd often throw up.
Seeing the look on Arte's face when he saw his parents reminded me of that feeling - that confusing, twisting, gut-wrenching tangle of miserable emotions ranging from hatred and fury to self-loathing guilt. I'd have given anything to spare him from that. Anything. He was silent the whole ride home until Nathan and James had stopped for something at a Walgreens. I tried to talk to him and found out that it was his mother's birthday making matters even more painful. I wish I'd known how to respond, what to say if anything even could be said. If he didn't hate physical contact so much (someting else I remember from my less than happy past) I would have hugged the bastard till he couldn't breathe. Instead we sat in a bitter awkward silence until the others came back.
Other than that life's been good since Friday or Thursday or whenever it was I last posted. I was supposed to get my ears pierced today but my mum (who I've been trying to get along with once more) is sick and so I have no ride or money. I suppose that's nearly everything for now, and lunch is nearly ready so I believe I shall bid you all good day and enjoy some tuna sandwiches while watching Battlestar Galactica. Tschüs!
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