I am so cold here in Florida. I am sleeping in my cousin Eddie's room, and it was cold. It is alright when I am under the covers, but the morning hours are terrible. Tomorrow is my Grandmothers funeral.
I guess it makes sense that the temperature should be so cold at this time. I wish Donna were here to keep me warm. I hardly speak to anyone in my family. I like to be alone. Sometimes I think of grandmother, but mostly I think about my mother, and how well she is handling this. I am proud of her.
They keep asking me to join them and the family. They keep asking me to be with them during their time of grieving, and while they talk. They never talk to me. I am alone, even among people who seek me. They want to see my face, but they don't see me. Not like mom sees me. Not like Donna sees me. Nobody asks me what I am doing with my life, or whether I finished school, or anything.
I know, it sounds selfish, to want someone to talk to. Someone close to me. But I am alright, I am okay by myself in the garage, thinking to myself, and playing with my phone. But don't expect me to be grateful when people ask me to spend time with my family, when they never talk to me. Yes, I am a face. But to them, that is all I am. They talk to each other about each other, and about the family, but not to me. Not to me. Not at all.
Not one word.
Now my aunt Jenny is saying she wants to use the internet. I was in the room for a long time. For a long time she could have used it, but now I am on, writing this, and I will not get off until I am done. It is freezing in Florida, but the temperature seems just right. Just right.
It is cold here. It has to be cold, for people to be so loud, but to say so little. It has to be cold, for people to want to see a face, but not know or talk to it. Of course it is cold, this is my "family".
I purchased the tales of Beadle the Bard by J.K. Rowling. I read a bit on my way here, but I haven't had an opportunity to read since I got here.