Saturday, January 3, 2009

bright eyes.

Something I admire in my parents: their maturity. I love when there is something wrong my parents talk it over and stay calm. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them not act their age, and not do something adulty. I love that when they fight they kiss and make up and never go to bed angry. I love when I need them they are always there for me and always tell me I’m doing the right thing. I love how easy that was to lie about…

There is something seriously wrong when a nineteen year old is more mature than his parents. Yes, I get mad and like to yell when I am angry, but no I don’t hold grudges and let it ruin my entire day and take it out on everyone. And no, I don’t leave stupid notes on peoples desks saying how much I hate them.

My mom and I had a brief tiff today over nothing. My parents, as usual are fighting and I, as usual, am in the middle. I woke up happy because I had the house to myself…no, that’s a lie. The first time I woke up I was woken up because my parents do not know how to talk to one another, but they have to yell across the house and have no consideration for anyone else but themselves. I fell back asleep and woke up about an hour later; this time on my own…well, with help from Frans text message, but whatever.

I watched Sex and the city for a few hours and then my mom came storming in with four coffee cups and a bag from dunkin donuts. I asked her what was wrong and she said that they coffee was actually hot chocolate and that the bag had bagels in it for my dad and three brothers, but she didn’t know where they were and she was supposed to meet them at the park but my dad wasn’t picking up his cell phone (she can not complain because she doesn’t either)

So, she is all pissy because she’s fighting with my dad. I was just about to leave (I was already outside walking to my car) when she demands that I bring in the shit from her car. I wouldn’t mind doing this if every time she goes out I have to do it. So I head to the car and start taking out all the food she bought. I said something to her and she made a snotty remark and then I said “so, I guess you’re not going to help bring in your things” and she said no, she wasn’t, and that I could because I didn’t do anything around the house. I then told her that I’m never home to do anything around the house, which is true because I’m hardly ever home. Lately I’ve been trying to avoid being home, and I’m always out with someone.

So….I finished bringing in all the stuff and she told me that I was mean and didn’t treat her right and all that good stuff. I told her I wasn’t mean and then I walked out and drove to Frans house.
I get a phone call from my mom about an hour later but I missed it so she left a voicemail which consisted of her telling me that I am mean and she no longer considers me her son…I love it.
The rest of the day was really good. I watched about five hours of Nip Tuck and then went to Applebees with Sam and a bunch of her friends. When I got back home, however I found a note on my desk with three pictures ripped up. The note said the same thing that the voicemail said.
If she wants to play this game I can play along with her. What do I call her is she is no longer my mom? Mrs. Meissner? Michele? The artist formally known as mom? I don’t know.

What I do know is that my family is full of a bunch of immature people and they are never going to change. How can I respect people that act younger than me? How can I respect anyone who acts like a baby when they are upset? My dad is sleeping on the couch right now because they are fighting…again.

Jesus, that was depressing, huh?

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