I am tired. I am trying to think of some clever and funny things to tell you about why I am tired, but I’m not coming up with anything….because…..I’m tired. Oh wait, wait, wait…..I figured out something clever and funny….I stayed up really late. I got up really early. Now I’m really tired.

How’s that?

On with the diary…..

Sun Nov. 20, 1983
Dear Diary,
I didn’t do much today except sit around Hollie’s house until 5:30 and then I came home and watched a movie: The Day After. It was pretty scary. It was about what would happen in a nuclear war. Tomorrow, I’m going to put matches, candles, etc. in the basement, just in case.

(I’m hoping the “etc.” I was talking about was food. I still have the desire to stock the basement full of rations. When the whole Anthrax thing happened, I bought two basic survival videos and a FM 21-76 Army Field Manual from Amazon. I haven’t watched the videos, but the field manual is amazing. It tells you how to survive anywhere with nothing. I especially liked the traps and weapons section.)

(another side note to the side note: I just went into my bathroom which is in flux. I am cleaning out all of the closets and putting things into organized plastic containers. Two things in an almost empty drawer caught my eye. One was a pair of long fake eyelashes with pink tips that I bought on my first trip to Austin. Krysti and I had girly day and had makeovers at the MAC makeup counter of a department store whose name I cannot recall. I bought these huge spidery monstrosities in the name of glam. I wore them out that night and recall having many drinks and telling a lot of people that it felt like my eyelids were wearing little hats.

The second thing that caught my eye was a dried jumbo shrimp tail in the bottom of said drawer. I picked it up with my thumb and forefinger, and held it to my scquinched up eyes. I would really like to know, who exactly was eating a jumbo shrimp in my bathroom.)

and now, instead of getting back to Diary Cindigo, I’m going to post some pictures.

….little Cindigo continues on her journey through adolescent hell.

Tue. Nov. 8, 1983
Dear Diary,
Today I was sick, at least that’s what my mom thought, so she let me stay home. Since I was in bed when she got home, she thinks I’m really, really sick and she said I might stay home tomorrow. Guess what, this Saturday night, I might be able to stay at Hollie’s house because Joan’s boyfriend Rex moved out. Yeah!

P.S. I still hate school.

(So crafty….even then. I had forgotten, but my mom wouldn’t let me stay at Hollie’s because one of her Aunt’s boyfriends lived there for a while.)

Tue. Nov. 15, 1983
Dear Diary,
I didn’t write over the weekend because I forgot. I didn’t go to school today. No one understands what it’s like there. Or they do understand, and they don’t care. The only good thing about school is Patrick and Vince. Patrick is one of my good friends, and I know Vince won’t even look at me. What a babe!

(I still think they knew and were too self absorbed to notice. This may explain the chip on my shoulder towards any type of authority figures. I vaguely recall Vince, but I cannot confirm or deny if he actually was a “babe” or not. At that time, I’m sure Mr. X was a babe, I was just too young and stupid to truly appreciate his “babeness”. So, baby, if your reading this, I’m so sorry. I know it hurts you for me to talk about other men in such a way, but, just know, I think you are a total babe. If you want, I’m sure I can hunt Vince down and we can schedule a fight after school in front of the bike racks.)

Sat. Nov. 19, 1983
Dear Diary,
Today I went to a Menudo concert, it was really fun. The guys in the group are really cute and when they were on stage, all the girls were jumping on stage trying to kiss them. It was pretty funny. We had the best seats in the house on the side of the stage. I went with Hollie and her dad.

(Hollie’s dad lived in Puerto Rico and owned a sound company. He would travel with them sometimes. Yes, I hung out with Menudo……am I cool or what. A fourteen year old Ricky Martin even. Hollie and I used to make up stories about them, and how Ray would fall in love with her and Roy would fall in love with me. In every story they would some how find us and rescue us from our pre pubescent hell and we would live happily ever after. I know I have that canary yellow folder covered with Garfield stickers somewhere at my parent’s house. Every time I go, I search, but it so far has not been located.

My apologies once again to Mr. X: Baby, it meant nothing. I swear it. I was young, I didn’t know.

When I was twelve, Hollie and I spent the summer in Puerto Rico with her dad and her missionary relatives. We saw Ozzy Ozbourne and guess who opened for him. Come on guess. You’ll never guess….Michael Bolton, no joke. At that time, he was trying his hand at the metal genre. We also went to a lot of salsa (the dance, not the chip topping) concerts, where I learned to put my hand on my belly and shake my hips like a hoochie mamma cita. Heady stuff for twelve.)

That is all for today except for two short stories from present time.

1. I had the worst partner in class last night. I have one week to graduate, and by this time, everyone knows who sucks and who doesn’t at massage. When it is time to pick partners, everyone scrambles to avoid the weaklings of the herd. I just didn’t have enough energy last night to scramble. I was partnered up with a man with belly that looked like he was pregnant and a constitution that looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment. When he was working at my head and leaning over my back, his fat belly rested on the back of my head and jammed my face into the head opening. I restrained my giggles and suffered through the hour.

2. Yesterday morning I got up and went into the kitchen, saw an open bag of dried fruit and yelled out, “Oh great, I left the bag of dried fruit open, and now it’s extra dry!” This cracked me up while I ate a toaster waffle.

and now, the continuation of the saga of Little C, the diary of an eleven year old malcontent….

Thurs. Aug 4, 1982
Dear Diary,
I just got home from seeing Annie. Great movie! I decided what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be either an actor or a dancer. I probably won’t be though. I didn’t have to go to bible school today. No offense god, but bible school is boring.

(I believe, that this diary entry is the best thing I have written to date. I want to comment on it’s greatness, but I end up just retyping the actual entry….IT’S THAT GOOD.)

Friday, Aug 5, 1982
Today we went to a spanish bible school in Chicago. It was really fun. Next year I’m going to have 2 spanish girls stay over for 2 weeks!

(spanish girls…..I just love those spanish girls)

Sat Aug. 6, 1982
Dear Diary,
Today I went to my father’s house. Nothing to do. I still haven’t found any friends yet. And I didn’t go to the dance contest because of my father’s (illegible handwriting that, try as I may, I cannot decypher).

(And still, twenty years later, boring and friendless….although, today, I *would* go to the dance contest, and nothing, I mean nothing would stop me.)

Mon. Nov. 7, 1983
Dear Diary,
Today was awful. I hate school, but does anyone care? Nooooooo!!!!!! I had to put my hair up in a pony tail, and all day I heard, “nice hair”, or “Hi Genie”. I hate everyone, and I doubt Pat will get the job at United so Hollie can’t move into her own house, and she can’t go to Thomas. Bummer!!!!!!

(Why I *had* to put my hair up in a ponytail is a mystery to me. But yes, I do recall hating everyone. Pat was my best friend’s mom. Hollie was my best friend and they lived with her two Aunt’s who did a lot of drugs and were really mean to the both of us. Thomas was the middle school that Hollie and I (and Mr. X) went to)

……and again, I tire of transcribing. I just got home from my last day working in the student clinic giving old, cranky, cheap people massages. It’s really funny to have a eighty year old woman hand me a two dollar tip, saying “there you go dear” while patting my hand. On the good days, it makes me laugh to myself. On the bad days, it makes me want to kick the walkers out from under people and say, “bitch, don’t you know who I am”. Fortunately, most of the days have been good, and on the bad, I have been able to practice restraint.

I found a diary I wrote in when I was eleven. It is embarrassing and makes me cringe, but, since I’m into that whole cringing sensation…..here you go.

Sun. Aug. 1, 1982
Dear Diary,
Today I came home from my father’s house. I don’t want my parents to know, but every night I cry in bed because my parents are getting a divorce. I haven’t cried in front of my parents though. My sister did. My mother tries to show she’s not unhappy but I know deep down inside she is as sad as me probably even more. I wish they would get back together again.

(Oh great, now my tough and hardened exterior is blown. You know that I’ve cried at least once in my life.)

Mon. Aug. 2, 1982
Dear Diary,
I went shopping for clothes today. Mom and I shopped for 3 hours and I only got 2 shirts. And then later on we went to Randhearst and I lost my shoe. I don’t know how we were in the dressing room and when I went to put my other shoe on, it was gone. So I had to go home with one shoe on!

(actually, it was a sandal, and to this day, I still have no idea what could have happened to it. I still recall the strange sensation of escalator metal on the bottom of my bare foot.)

Tue. Aug. 3, 1982
Dear Diary,
I went to Cedar Lake today with Colleen. She also brought the Heinback’s. They had a cousin who is visiting from Germany. She’s really nice. She’s 17 and doesn’t speak that much english, but as I said before, she’s nice. I also got a really bad sunburn. I got sick from the heat too.

(The whole, “doesn’t speak english….but as I said before, she’s nice”, crack….yeah, me trying to be funny. Did it work? See how funny?)

Wed. Aug. 3, 1982
Dear Diary,
Today I went to bible school again. El Boro! We also went to Aunt Jane and Uncle Stan’s house. Uncle Stan came home. Aunt Jane is a bitch. She made us stay outside so we wouldn’t break anything in the house. My mom just rubbed baby oil on my sunburn. OW!

(El Boro! I think I’m going to start using that again. My Aunt Jane was pretty bitchy. She was addicted to Coke (ca-cola) and cigarettes. She died of a heart attack, or, as it was explained to me when I was 13, “Her heart exploded in her chest. They said that even if her chest was open on the operating table, they couldn’t have been able to save her.” She was the lady that when I was twelve, grabbed my boob and honked it like a horn and said, “My, my, my, I see we’re getting breasts”.)

There’s more diary, but I have tired of transcribing girly bubble sixth grade handwriting into legible type. It’s been a long day of school. I’m done in two (maybe three) weeks. The real estate agent came over a few days ago and “project sell chateau cindigo” has (almost) been officially set in motion.

My feelings? Scared. Excited. Scared. Woozy. Dizzy. Happy. Like a explorer riding a crazy horse into the terrain of the uncharted and unknown wilderness. Watch out Austin…..here comes Cindiana Jones.

Today, while sitting at Starbucks in a brown puffy chair, a “crazy” man sat down in the sister chair. I have noticed more than a normal amount of “crazy” people at this particular Starbucks. I have my theories. This Starbucks is located next to a very large community hospital. I’m thinking that many people who are too sick to be well, but too well to get a bed end up just wandering around. Maybe they come in for outpatient therapy and then instead of waiting for the bus outside, in the cold, slush and snow, they wander in and find the haven of brown puffy chairs. That’s my theory anyway. A while ago, one of the barristas told me that a “crazy” person came in, pulled down his pants and proceeded to go to the bathroom (#2) in one of the brown puffy chairs. They threw the chair away, but it made me feel a bit uneasy about my favorite chairs.

He couldn’t sit still. He kept rearranging himself in his seat, folding and unfolding his legs, standing up and sitting down. He would mumble incoherently, and then get progressively louder until he was just short of yelling. “God is jesus. Jesus is my saviour. For a million zillion dollars, I don’t know why. Don’t know why. Great Scott King, you know why. You know why. Don’t call it off. I can’t call it off.” One of the barristas came over and asked him to leave and that if he didn’t, she would call the police. He said, “That’s all right, that’s all right young lady. I’m not the type to aggravate a situation.” He was well dressed and clean. It made me think about just how precarious our chemistry really is. Okay, it made me think about how precarious my chemistry really is because I think if I had a few more or less hormones that control restraint and focus….that could be me. Because while I sat there and tried to focus on my basic exam study guide, more than part of me wanted to jump up and yell, “Right on brotha’. For a million zillion dollars, I don’t know why either”.

I’m supposed to be writing a “year in review” paper to fulfill the graduation requirements for massage school. This irks me. Of course, any time anyone tells me I have to do something so I can get something (i.e. 9-5 job, taxes, school) I am irked. Whatever, I’m sure if I just start writing…..the words will start filling up the page and I will get something of some measurable value. At least that’s what usually happens. Of what measure of value…..this remains to be seen.

I’m home. I am in my home, surrounded by my things.

Actually, I’m at Starbucks in my big, brown puffy chair but, same difference.

I had so many things to write before I sat down here. Such important, big things, that seem to have vanished. I’m hypnotized by an oversized American flag waving in the breeze above a Chrysler car dealership. Two black women are arguing loudly about some car insurance issue. Blue shirt woman seems to be more intelligent and more correct in her thinking and is getting louder and waving her hand more. Not that I can exactly tell what the argument is about, it’s just that black hat woman has a mumbley annoying victim voice and slouchy posture that makes me want to side with blue shirt woman. Blue shirt woman is saying things like respect, taking responsibility for your actions and then explaining in simple detail how to go about getting car insurance. Black hat woman responds with a mumble that I can’t make out, but sounds like some sort of an excuse or lame argument against what blue shirt woman is saying. It seems that two cars and blue shirt’s daughter are involved somehow.

I wanted to write about Joe Millionaire, but I’m not sure if I feel like it right now. Twenty girls and a bachelor that they think has fifty million dollars, but in reality works construction and makes $19,000. I feel a little disgusted with myself for wanting to see these greedy women get burned. I feel bad because all they did was buy into the lie that society pushes to extreme. Or whatever, I had many thoughts on the subject, but I feel bored with it now.

This Starbucks is next door to a Catholic school. All the girls are coming in with really short plaid skirts and knee high socks. It’s the middle of winter. Don’t they give the girls a different winter uniform? Or maybe the winter uniforms are so ugly, the girls opt to suffer the cold for the slight fashion edge. Mom always said, “You have to suffer to be beautiful”. Yes it’s true, my mom did always say that. She also said, “If you can’t find something, start cleaning….you’ll find it”. I tout that second bit of wisdom as the only direct piece of advice that my mom taught me that I heard, processed, understood and use to this day. Don’t get me wrong, she was a good mom, and I learned a lot…..just not directly.

I was talking to my mom as she was driving to Florida. My parents spend most of the winter there. I asked her is she was going to get a hotel, or just sleep in the car and keep driving. She was semi mortified (can you be semi mortified) because she didn’t want Mr. X to know that she was sleeping in the car. I personally think it rocks to sleep in the car…very edgy….I try to do it as much as I can. When I drove to Texas a few months ago and I told her I was sleeping in the car, she was worried and told me to get a hotel room. I was like, “hey, remember when Kim (my sister n2sing) and I were little and we drove to Florida….we always slept in the car”. She said, in a exasperated voice, ” I know, but I didn’t mean to teach you that behavior”.

It’s just funny. Funny “ha ha” and funny “peculiar”. Life is weird and twisted and sad and beautiful. Sometimes I think I understand everything, and it the next moment, I feel like a newly walking baby trying to balance on two feet.

and that is all to report from cindigodotcom.

I am sitting in the middle of the living room floor of a completely empty house. I am waiting for Mr. X to get back from the store with tie down straps for the van. I’m wearing army green cargo pants (I know, so last year) and a black hooded sweatshirt that I’ve worn every day (and not washed) for the past month. My hair is half wet and pretending to be in a pony tail. The floor is the kind of dirty that floors are after you’ve removed all of your things that you’ve had in place for the last five years.

The last few boxes are at the curb and I’m sitting here on a tan, fireproof lock box of “important documents”, looking out the window typing on my laptop.

I’ll be back in Detroit by Friday night.