Margaritas and Siblings

I went with my mom up to Chicago tonight to have dinner with my oldest sibling, Julie. Julie was given up for adoption by my mom when my mom was 19 years old. Somehow Julie was able to locate our family a few years ago (I think it was 2003 or 2004, but I can’t remember for sure). I haven’t seen Julie for a couple of years now, since the last family gathering we had before my grandmother passed away. It was pretty good to see her and her husband, John, as well as my nephew Louie (I’m not sure if I spelled his name correctly). We ate Mexican food and I drank margaritas and then we went back to Julie and John’s house where I played baseball with Louie. Louie is only two years old, but he took it like a champ when I beaned him with my fastball. They said we had to stop playing after that, which I kind of think means that I won the game. I also got to talk to John a little bit, as well as Julie, which was pretty cool because I’ve never really gotten to know either one of them. Julie and John are both really decent, welcoming people. They are both high school teachers, and I’ve actually met a couple of U of I students who either knew or had been a student of Julie, and they absolutely raved about her.  I didn’t get to see Julie’s other children (she has four total) other than to shake Ryan’s (her second oldest) hand. I’m sure I’ll probably see them in the future.

In other news, I got my head shaved yesterday. Nobody has told me it looks bad, but most people have just remarked “oh you got a haircut”, which I think is a good sign that it does not look good. Plus they’ve mostly said that with a little bit of a shocked look on their face. I thought it looked good at first, but i think I might be wrong about that. It’s weird though, because some of my biggest regrets in life have been haircuts, but I simply don’t give a shit now. I heard my grandpa used to say the only difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is a couple of days. In my case it might be a few weeks, but you get the point.

The last segment of my blog will be a dream journal: So I’m at Summercamp (I bartended there at the end of the summer) and all of my friends are there. We’re partying in a big field near the edge of the woods. It’s well known among everyone there that you shouldn’t go into the woods because it’s late at night and we understand the woods as being very dangerous (for no specific reason). As we party more and more, I get closer and closer to the woods. People occasionally warn me that I’m venturing too close, but I don’t really care that much anymore. Eventually I am in the woods completely. I can see my friends in the field through the trees, but none of them can hear me and I’m horrified and alone. I go farther into the woods to see if I can find a way out in the opposite direction but it only gets darker and scarier. Even though I’m really far in, I can still faintly see everyone, and I occasionally hear them call my name, but I can’t yell enough for them to respond. I felt like I was having a panic attack when I awoke.