Cold war

[kites at Vanier Park]

At red lights, Ellen scribbles notes to herself on small pieces of paper. Her life is one big to do list. Jen carefully does her makeup in the backseat, complaining about her dumbass fiancee, their abusive relationship, cooking, makeup, and other people's dogs. She is a living example of what can happen to those pretty girls who smoke pot behind the highschool when they grow up.

It was oppressively hot today and the dock singed the bottoms of our bare feet. We resisted the urge to put our feet in the water because neither of us had any desire to meet Bernie again. We got into boats and played with the kids. We had lots of fun, but I'm not sure if the kids did. I hate it when that happens.

My father is in a bad mood for reasons that are really unclear to me. I think it may be because my parents disagree upon the definition of holiday. They are supposed to be leaving with my sister for all of next week, but they haven't decided where exactly they are going yet.

My mother believes that in a holiday, one should go somewhere, stay there and check out tourist attractions and maybe do some shopping as well. My father's idea of a good vacation involves driving eight hours a day through dusty logging roads lined with nondescript trees and brush.

Right now my father just sulks around the house while my mother makes faces behind his back. I hope they sort out their differences soon. I would love to have some time alone.