Jumping on the Train

Dear Diary,

I love the Saints.

I’ve always had faith and I have felt it in my stomach win we lose and lose and lose.  Since we washed out of Nola, it’s become more.  A three hour ball game shows that while we ran, they (the city) got it back with their sweat and our tears.  I’m reminded that long distance tears don’t do shit.  We bulldozed and walked away.  Short of gutting the family homes … well, I guess my pride for a winning Saints team and my shame at not deserving to be proud is conflicting.  I’m happy that the rest of the world likes the Saints now, I like being able to find a Mike Bell jersey for the boys within a 50 mile radius.

Being a good parent is important.  I’ll keep saying how the schools are better, the special education is better and the jobs are better.  I’ll keep talking out of the side of my neck and ignoring the fact that being here is making me uncomfortable with myself and I start to feel unworthy of the pretentious and I want to surround myself with real people again and I hate the suburbs.  And how I want a goddamned hubrigs.

Your head’s too big, it’s taking up too much room, la la lalala, big heads small thoughts.

Oh and diary my mom +  me = crazy and that boy Patrick has pretty eyes.  And I heart Benicio Del Toro.  And should I have offered the tallest trick or treaters a song download instead of candy?  They were big.

Peace out, Mama Reitmeyer

@2 years ago