First Party Entry

I woke up to the sound of my mom storming into my room. My heart leaped out of my chest and splattered all over the ceiling in fear. My door is entirely too loud and entirely too ancient. One has to have swift maneuvers with it.

She was waking me up cause this morning we had to go to the cemetary. Visit grandpa’s grave. I pleaded for her to not forget me this time.

My dad had made mamaliga. It is a Moldovian dish. Look it up on Wikipedia if thou is intrigued.

At the cemetary, there was a funeral. Which is not surprising. There are people dying every day.

The cemetary was such a contrast to the one I went to in Kishenev. In Kishenev it was miles long with trees and bushes and forgotten graves. Here, everything was wide open. No one looked forgotten and in some bizarre way, it made me smile.

We bought tons of flowers. Its actually against Jewish customs to put flowers on grave, but we are russian too so its okay. I always feel awkward standing next to my dedushka’s grave. I dont believe his soul is there. And i get really creeped out when i try to imagine it there, under my feet and i cringe. Soul belongs in the air. In my heart. In those puffy clouds.

In Jewish tradition, one finds rocks. You leave a part of earth. I went out to the bushes and brought everyone a rock. We all stood in a circle in silence as the wind whipped our hair and our sad foreheads. In those moments I try to think of the happiest memories. I try to make a resolution. Some sort of promise, which is silly because a lot of times we forget the promises we make. But I usually remember this one.

I was so tired i fell asleep on the window of the car, which severely hurt my head. Needless to say, I took a nap when i got back.

Marcy called, which was to be expected. We decided to go for a walk. Somehow we ended up in the forest that i usually went to with dedushka. Except it was less adventurous. My grandpa always had walking sticks and he was armed with good stories. This time it was me that was telling the stories. lately Ive become too addicted to my own story telling. But. Shh. Dont tell my ego or else it will get bigger.

I had a good time with Marcy. Always leaves me asking for more more more.

I didnt do as much work as I planned, but maybe good enough work. Liz called and said she hated me for being productive. Marina called and said she brought a turkey back. My reply was "Why do we need a turkey? we’re going to be headless turkeys ourselves this week!"

Ugh. So dreading this week.

Ahem.

For those of you who were tricked, last entry was written by Serleth because I said Nojomo was hard and somehow it became fun idea for him to write an entry pretending to be me. And that was that.