porn, super porn
writers will happen in the best of families
2004-07-11 | 3:58 p.m.

with my sisters:

That is a picture of me and my female siblings, all agitated and gramatically incorrect. From tallest to shortest, there's me, 21, Sam, 15, Faith, 11, Ali, 9, and Hope, 6. Ali's real name is Christany Alexis. As a matter of fact, all seven of us have first names that begin with 'Christ': Christian, Christopher, Christionne, Christon, Christlynne, Christany, and Christaleigh. Not only is this puzzling because most of the names are extraordinarily ugly and made up; it's puzzling because neither of my parents were that religious. My father was always tight-lipped about it, and whenever I stopped to listen, my mother always mumbled about 'spirits' and 'crystals' and 'arranging plants in a directly proportional and spiritual way to my green couches.'

I know that I talk about my family too much, and I'm sorry. Other things actually happen with people that I'm actually not related to, but for some reason my family is always resting directly on my frontal lobe. I yearn so much for all of them to be happy, and intelligent, and independent thinkers, and financially secure, etc etc etc, yet when you put seven kids together, all with a tumultuous past, surely they can't all be "successful." So I write about it. Ali and Faith are staying with me for a little while, and I basically view them as two walking, babbling energy meters that I have to deplete. Yesterday we went canoeing and swimming in town lake, ran races, walked to the park, walked hamilton, ran circles around the yard, had jumping contests, you get the idea. Their energy is so indefatigable that I become exhausted just watching them eat cereal.

I feel a mixture of anxiety and uncertainty when I think about my siblings when they are grown up, and what will happen to them. My friend, Holly, has three older sisters, daughters of a southern baptist preacher, and while individually they retain elements of insanity and fanaticism, for the most part they manage to be fairly conventional and boring. When they're together, however, her family fascinates me: four tall, blonde, skinny sisters that all look remarkably alike and have remarkably similar mannerisms, arguing and bickering constantly. I think and worry about the future. Already my 20 year old brother, Christopher, is so amazingly conservative and religious that I lament a future of joining him at Jesus-themed barbeques, knitting with his wife, stepping over his 2.5 kids, slapping away the golden retriever, parking behind his suburban with the George W sticker on it. Yes, there will be times when I am dutifully attending prayer circles and group sing-a-longs, perpetuating the christian way of trying to neatly catagorize the chaotic world without any rational logic. How I dread it. My 13 year old brother, Hunter, the one that tried to kill himself a few months ago, claimed recently that after college he was going to live in a house in the woods, all alone, and wouldn't tell anyone where he lived, much like the unabomber. Maybe these days are precious: the days when they're young, and maleable, the days before I wonder what went wrong. hello, I worry too much.

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