This morning I had a rough time and was stuck in my messed-up head. On the way to my shrink I saw this and knew things would somehow be okay. Maybe you need it too so I’m leaving it here.
Today is my sister’s birthday. She is 18. Or at least that’s how old she is in my head. And that makes me 21. Drinks for everyone! Here is a picture of me sharing my stash with her:
You’re welcome, Lisa. Also, thank you too, because Lisa is often the person who says, “I can’t believe you didn’t write about Jenkins” and I’d be like “Huh. It honestly never occurred to me that having a vicious pet turkey terrorize you isn’t a normal early childhood experience.” So lots of chapters and stories end up in my books because of her. Also, Lisa has my same fucked up sense of humor and is just like me if I wasn’t broken in the head, so if I ever die she could take this shit over and you’d never know it. Except suddenly “I’d” be taking circus lessons and homeschooling a pack of kids and welding and sewing 1950’s clothing and running miles in tough mudder marathons. Which is sort of a sign of being a bit fucked in the head too, now that I think about it. My craziness makes me hide at home and hers makes her run through miles of swamps and barbed-wire carrying sandbags for a free t-shirt. And now I sort of have an appreciation for my own brokenness because intentionally running when you’re not being chased by roving packs of dogs is the kind of crazy they can’t even medicate.
Also, don’t yell at me for giving my sister a trucker hat and a cigar because – first of all – trucker hats ended up being huge and I put her way ahead of the trend, and secondly, this is a picture of my fantastic grandfather sharing his beer with me. BECAUSE WE ARE A FAMILY WHO SHARES.
Except I suspect that beer was empty, because there is a limit to our generosity and beer doesn’t grow on trees, y’all,
So happy birthday, Lisa. Thank you for being there even when I’m crazier than normal.