Quite the day, quite the day indeed.

I awoke in a daze. It was nine, and I was supposed to pick up Helen and Ann at eight.

I panicked, then looked at the clock again. It was seven. Greg had woken me up. It had all been a crazy dream, obviously expressing my anxiety about being late.

I awoke in a daze. It was eight.

So I was late, and I got lost a half dozen times, and I got to Stillwater late. I'd blame all this on the alarm clock if I could. Those Stillwater people are forgiving folk.

My inability to get places notwithstanding, the ride was a rather run-of-the-mill five hour drive. We ate lunch at Subway, and I managed to spill more food on myself -somehow the shirt I'd washed yesterday had already acquired other stains. Everyone was tired so things were pretty quiet the whole way; we listened to some music, much of it mine, and Ann and Helen took naps.

In Brainerd, things had changed a bit. Our dog, Daisy, has prettymuch stopped caring about me, or so it seems, and the house has been remodeled slightly since last time I was here.

The following describes my family pretty well.

Matt (17) was at the movies and planned to eat in town, so my dad asked if we wanted to go out to eat. Josh (14) and I didn't care, and my mom didn't want to cook, so we went to Sportland Cafe, an unpretentious roadside diner in Nisswa.

Picture us at the table, if you will. I'm next to my mom, on the outside of the booth, wearing a buttoned up, slightly wrinkled shirt so as to conceal the stained undershirt I was too lazy to change. And my 'driving jeans', which actually fit me. I'm looking apathetically at the menu, because I wasn't hungry but came anyways.

My mom, next to me, is sporting one of the homemade-looking outfits that only elementary teachers seem to wear. It's very rustic, and probably took some impressive quilting technique to make. She's looking matter-of-factly at the menu, but doesn't seem too interested. She's tired from teaching all day, but I bet she's probably already thinking of tomorrow. She's losing her class next year, bumped from fourth to second grade by administrative favoritism. Don't mention it. Seconds after we sit down, she invites me to visit her class on Friday to help.

Across from my mom, on the inside of the opposite booth, is Josh. He's wearing a blue Brainerd Warriors hooded sweatshirt and some jeans or something. Socially, it's a very neutral outfit; my brothers and I, in our own seperate ways, have been between worlds in high school. Josh is part jock and part nerd, flitting between tennis matches and RPGs seemingly without effort, just as he now switches between muddled excitement and affected boredom. We'll bring up common interests later, to try and bridge the five-(four in June)-year gap.

Next to Josh, and across from me on the outside of his booth, is my dad. He's wearing a These Colors Don't Run T-shirt and jeans that probably have a hole in the them somewhere. It was his day off today, so fashion isn't an issue. He's mired in local and national politics but takes time out to make a few church-parking-lot quality jokes that go regretably unappreciated. He's a bit too self-assured, and I'm a bit too critical.

We eat. I say some unfortunate things by accident but manage to keep everyone happy by focusing attention away from them. At home, I go into the t.v room and remain there for the rest of the night.

Matt walks into the room, back from a chick-flick he saw with a dozen people, I'm sure. He has a goatee now, and it's really weird looking. He now looks like The Insurrectionist's roommate, who I never really warmed to, and the whole facial-hair thing is going to take some getting used to, because I really like Matt. Things are going well, same here. He sits down, we watch The Daily Show. I say "later". He says "later" and goes to bed. Good times, good times.

Well, that's enough of that. A better day tomorrow, soon enough.