Entry 12

Dear Future Me,

So, I heard a lot of strange noises last night.  Like someone took a rusty saw and went at it in the woods.  I didn’t like it at all.  I would have checked but I’m afraid of it.  I’m not going to that forest park thing if I can help it.  Well, it had kept me up all night and that makes me so frustrated.  I don’t think it was the old fart.  I could hear his snores all goddamn night.  I could even hear it over the sounds outside.
And I did something I never thought I would.  I went through the chests and wardrobes and all the containers of clothes and shoes and I played dress up.  Yes, I know, future me, I didn’t want to do it but it was better than sitting there, moping in the heat.  It has been gradually getting warmer and warmer, but it isn’t yet too hot for me to play dress up.
And I haven’t done this shit since I was a kid.  Back when I wore mother’s clothes.  Back when I wore father’s clothes.  Back when things were… better?  Were they better?  I dunno.
In order for me to get a proper look at what I was dressing up as I needed to see myself in the mirror.  There was a dingy little thing in the bathroom all the way downstairs on the first floor.  But, there was also that mirror in the empty room on the second floor.  I risked it for the biscuit.
I mean, he hadn’t caught me yet.  And he didn’t today, otherwise, I might not be writing this right now.  And since I’ve done it so many times already I was far more confident I think.  I skipped past the mrowling cats.  I wasn’t about to deal with that again, but I did feel some tugs on the heart-string cause I like cats.  I mean, we like cats, don’t we, future me?
I also took a look in that exhibit gallery looking ass room.  And it looked the same as I remember it.  I could tell that the paintings were all different.  I couldn’t tell you how they were different.  I just knew they were different.  Like, they were better?  I guess?
I don’t know.
I entered the mirror room, and I was surprised that it was still unlocked.  He certainly didn’t go up the stairs at all, even though I know he has to feed those cats and he has to paint and change those paintings and all.  I figured that he would have at least relocked the door behind him at one point or another.  Or not, I guess.
When I stood in front of the mirror staring back at me was a gangster from the depression.  I don’t know why I chose the pinstripes.  I guess it was just the first and closest thing that was on the top of the pile.  I turned this way and that.  I kind of liked it.  I mean, looking at myself in the dim light made me think that I was actually some sort of gangster from the 30’s.  All I was missing was a gun.  And dude gangsters didn’t have boobs, as far as I knew.  But still, it looks pretty believable.  I didn’t have much make up other than what I had brought with me.  You know, future me, that we didn’t have any of that proper acting make up.
Not my thing.
Well, I went up and back down again and again.  Cleopatra, a Roman soldier, a ninja, a Geisha, a Disco Queen, a Cavewoman, and, well, there were a lot more unsavory things I could have dressed up as.  But I wasn’t willing to be possibly caught from the old fart when I was dressed like a school girl or a cat girl or some shit like that.  It was bad enough I was rifling through his shit, it would be even worse if he caught me in something that was even vaguely fetishized.  Hence why I stuck to like Halloween costumes and shit like that.
I stopped in time for me to make dinner.  Which, once again, the old fart is almost expecting me to cook.  And, as stated, it’s easier to cook for two than it is for one.  Pretty much all the cookbooks I found in there (far more than you would actually think) had meals for like 2 or 4 or some shit like that.  It’s easier to just follow the recipe and maybe potentially have leftovers than try and do math and get the proportions right.
I don’t do math.
Tomorrow is the therapist.  Yay.  And he’s making the trip on the third of July too.  Really?  Doesn’t he have anything better to do than to look at me and think I’m crazy?  If I bring it up he would say some shit like everyone is a little bit crazy, or something like that.
I dunno.

Robin