hi! i'm in wheaton, illinois, a very very old town on the prairie, in a very very old house on main street, where my father and his four brothers and sisters grew up. it has 4 floors, (including an attic with a secret room, and a scary damp basement where mushrooms grow out of the floor), 3 cats, 2 pianos, 1 hammer dulcimer, 1 four year old, 1 aunt, and 1 uncle. and every surface that is remotely horizontal is covered with the most random assortment of stuff: musical instruments, old newspapers, photos, junk, toys (including books that talk to you), and various statuettes and objects from thailand and vietnam (my relatives have a thing for asia). the "mess" gene is very strong on my father's side. this house is straining to hold the clutter in all its glory.

i am selective with my affection, i won't gush over everything, but when i like something i REALLY like it. and i REALLY like this house, and i REALLY like my aunt bonnie. she is my favorite relative, besides her daughter, natalie, who no longer lives here (she lives in a crazy apartment in chicago). i am so silly with things i get attached to, and i think i like this house so much because we always used to spend holidays here and natalie was my favorite person in the whole world and we spent all our vacations giggling like maniacs. i can't shake associations like that.

i talked to natalie the other day about our plans to see each other while i'm here, and i mentioned the 4th of july parade (it goes down main street right in front of the house and features all kinds of hoaky acts and marching bands). and she said she wouldn't go, she couldn't get all patriotic, since we hate our country and all. and i thought, oh yeah, the 4th of july, i guess that is a patriotic holiday. but i don't care, i love parades, especially this one.

my aunt is a piano teacher, isn't that just the perfect occupation? kind of like how a librarian is the perfect occupation. i always wished i had gotten better at piano instead of all the other instruments i played. when we come here my parents and my aunt exchange newspaper articles they were saving for each other, and play each other classical cds that they thought they would like, and talk about interesting things. la la la. i am in this room where i think every member of my extended family has lived at some point, including my dad and each of his siblings. my crazy uncle painted a mural on the ceiling in the 60s but they painted over it but you can still see the outline of the swirly shapes.

last night i finally slept. i spent the previous 3 nights lying in bed awake all night. i feel tired but i'm afraid to get in bed because i hate it when i can't sleep. one night i even took a bunch of sleeping pills and something c's doctor gave him for heroin withdrawal, and i STILL didn't sleep, i wasn't even drowsy. i lie awake and write imaginary diary entries in my head (seriously). i didn't have to go through withdrawal this time, except for not sleeping, so i guess i shouldn't complain. i don't know how i got away with that, after doing it almost every day for a month. la la la.

i feel like a ballerina today, i'm wearing a short twirly whispery grey skirt, black tank top, and a black ribbon tied around my neck with the ends hanging down to my waist. i like tying ribbons around my neck, i don't know why no one else does that. i'm sure i look ridiculous but there's nothing i can do about it.