Sleepy Time
It’s 3:40 am but I can’t sleep. I was hungry and my poor side was hurting, so I decided I might as well get a bowl of granola and move myself out to the couch where it is a lot more comfortable than the bed. Mike is my hero. He finally figured out how to make the wireless network work on the laptop, so now I can surf from the couch and not go completely bonkers. Turns out there is a little button that had to be switched on. Who knew? We both worked on this thing for hours, trying to get it up and running. All we had to do was locate the mystery button (unlabelled, uncolored, and flush with the computer. It was a happy accident that he found it.)
My life is just a big ol’ ball of excitement right now, obviously. I will have to rely on my family’s drama to provide blog fodder. I don’t think you need any updates on the state of my couch. I will say I need to shave my legs. They are just at that stage where the hair is poking out enough that it hurts to lean them on the couch or the bed. I told Mike he needed to shave them for me and he just gave me his “I am married to a crazy American and there’s nothing I can do about it” look. I get that look often.
So family drama? My sister’s pasty white, very blond boyfriend wants to know why the new baby looks like a little Indian girl (I guess Native American would be the more PC term, but he’s not exactly PC). He also wants to know why she was so incredibly big since she was three weeks premature. The due date was calculated based on his prison release date. I think we’d all like to know the real scoop here. If my sister was smart, she’d find the Native American father (assuming that is actually the case) and get him to sign off on Laynee right away. Laynee would get a ton of financial advantages, including free health care for life and a free ride to college. These are reasons why I’ve always found it very hard to feel sorry for the Native Americans I know, and I know a lot of them. Klamath Falls is the headquarters of the Klamath tribe and I just grew up around a lot of different Native Americans. I can’t at all relate to stories of Native Americans growing up dirt poor on the reservations since that is not what I saw or experienced. I saw and experienced people who were no different from the white people that I knew. Some of them made good choices and some of them made bad choices, but they were just that–choices. Those that made good choices were able to go to college for free and make something of themselves. I never felt any sympathy for those that made bad choices. Just like I don’t feel sympathy for white people who make bad choices. I guess it is really different in places where the Native Americans were forced to live on reservations, but I still have a hard time mentally understanding why so many of them don’t take the opportunities offered by the government and other entities and get the hell out. And I’m not speaking as a privileged middle-class white kid. I’m speaking as a lower-class, white trash kid from a completely dysfunctional family who grabbed at every opportunity thrown my way. My dad refused to help pay for a dime of my education since there was no reason for me to have any career aspirations above “waitress.” I have a very strong internal locus of control and can’t relate to/comprehend people with a strong external locus of control (like my dad and my sister).
I am too tired to be making such a philosophical post. I really just wanted to say that I hope my sister’s boyfriend’s suspicions about the new baby don’t cause him to hurt the baby or my sister. Instead, I hope they cause him to hit the road. That’s not likely to happen, though. He needs my sister. As annoying and irresponsible as she is, she is the one who is willing to work the system to get whatever it takes to make sure they have a home and food and electricity. He’s not willing to put any effort in putting a roof over his head. He’s even told my mom that worrying about rent and utilities is something for women. He’s a real charmer.