tour de family lesson number two.

I live in California.  Brother number four lives in California.  Everybody else is scattered along the east coast. 

I am exactly not a morning person minus the few hours each morning between what I think are five and seven - I refuse to look at the clock but see the room get lighter - that I lie in bed awake thinking about a variety of things: work, paintings, life, and eventually about four Korean women massaging every inch of me with warm oil and culminating with a group hand job.  Sometimes group head.  They all wear latex gloves.  They're all fully dressed.  They never speak to me.  It is entirely methodical and business-like.  I don't jerk off while I'm thinking about this.  Eventually I fall back asleep.

What I mean is, I'm not a morning person.

So when I go back east it is both three hours earlier AND I'm not a morning person, so it would be normal for me to get up after noon.

The family is all morning people.

I managed to get up by 10, very respectable under the circumstances, and by day three noticed that I was the only one in the house.  They left me behind.  Every day.  Like I noticed it the first day, I just thought it was for that one day.  And then day two it happened again and I thought, well, maybe tomorrow and then it happened again.

Minus my dad who is not vigorous enough for the outings. He was, however, vigorous enough to make fun of my breakfast.  Then he'd go take a nap for three hours.

The house is near nothing to walk to. The house is hermetically sealed. There are a minimal 428 bowls of potpourri scattered about the house, no two the same scent.  The house is so overly air-conditioned you're wearing a sweater - in the middle of August. And like the biggest asshole loser on earth, I sat around the house all day thinking someone would show up soon and get me out of there, so I did nothing. I waited for Godot.

Tour de family lesson number two.  I'm really expendable.