The Sunday Morning Chronicle

Haaa. I just completed my plan to wake up and smoke while everyone is in church, and they will not be home until at least 12:30 or 1, and my father won't until 3, so I get to chill and write in my potbook and eat cereal and listen to The Ramones. It shall be a great success.

"Mom, do you have any formidable tampons?" I said. "My uterus is in its full fury."
"Hmmm, let me check," she said. It is difficult to get a rise out of her sometimes, unless you mention sex or Tina Turner or something sacreligious that takes the name of the Lord in vain. But she is kind of fascinated by drag queens.

"Whoa, fortifying shampoo," I said as I searched through my mom's stash of toiletries (she is a great stasher and stocker of various useful things), and I seized it and carried it upstairs with me.

Haa, there was that one time in St. Louis this spring when the tornado sirens went off, and it was a Sunday morning so I had just smoked, and in my potbook I drew up an elaborate plan of tasks for the day, but then the sirens went off and Jessica made me flee with her to the basement, and we agonized over whether to take the cats, but we knew Tasty would FREAK OUT if we tried to carry him downstairs among strangers and MEN against his will, so we left both of them (because we knew that if we left Tasty, and a calamity happened, it would be a terrible and unequal thing), and we went to the basement with B-Scoot and all manner of neighbours, and Tristan was locked in a Wal-Mart and the people wouldn't let anyone leave (and it is a hellish thing to be trapped in a Missouri Wal-Mart, I am sure), and I was pissed that my plans for the day had been thwarted, but I just wrote in my potbook and read Lord Byron (he is funny at times but I am not really a big fan of him), and it was okay.

Also there was that time at the end of the school year when B-Scoot and Dan and I were going to go in Makella's car to Janine's comedy spectacular, so B-Scoot and I of course smoked beforehand so it would be more jolly, and then we all had to fit in Makella's car and they put me in the back among all Makella's architecture shit, and it was a small space. I was our navigatrix, and I read out the directions to B-Scoot and yelled, "NORTH! NORTH!", but then they got hungry and went to get fast food and B-Scoot was ordering in the drive-through when all this smoke started pouring from under the hood, and we all began to FREAK OUT, and we got out of the car and ran because we did not know if it would explode, and B-Scoot and I were really high so we were like, "Whoa! What shall we do?" And then we had to have an adventure at a gas station and eat a lot of sugary candy and commit fraud with Jen D's family's AAA service to get the car towed, and we did not make it to Janine's comedy spectacular. But it was crazy.

Dude, last night when my brother and I watched Cops (it is a summer sibling tradition), there were these three young Hispanic drag queens in long curly dark wigs and heels and elaborate faux fur coats, and I was like, "Girl, you look GOOD!" in my black alter-ego voice. But then they got arrested because one had a meth pipe in her purse, and they were all under its influence. I usually feel bad for the drag queens and people who get arrested for weed on Cops, but not for those who are just assholes.

And that is the Sunday Morning Chronicle. I have to meditate while listening to music while high, because it is revivifying.
~Sage