busy times.
so. busy week! i spent all my time that i wasn't at work or shopping for stuff i can't afford watching my new digital cable! which i know is horrible, but whatever. the fact of the matter is, eight different showtime versions PLUS showtime on demand could keep me busy for a whole month. i mean, do you know how many times i've gotten to see pieces of a league of their own? i LOVE that movie!!!! also, do you have ANY idea how long it's been since i've seen party girl?? the more important question is, WHY has it been so long?? that movie kicks all sorts of indie boot-ay. seriously. i love me some parker posey, y'all.
anyway.
i had a pretty bad day today, even with all of the above goodness. (also, pretty show AND queer as folk reruns Back. to. Back. Y'all.) my mom called me like, twenty minutes before i was about to leave to go to her fucking house to get some of my shit, to DEMAND to know when i was going to come get some of my shit. when i gave her my standard "i don't know" (which i know isn't entirely fair, but still, i mean, dude, if i'm gonna come over, i'm gonna fucking call her, you know??), she said, well, fine, then i'm gonna just start throwing your shit into plastic bags, and you can come get them before the end of next week. and i flipped out, because i am SO sick and tired of her nosiness, and of not having any privacy, and if she's gonna go through my shit then she's gonna LOOK at all of it, and store it all in the back of her mind to throw at me at some later point, when i'm not expecting it and when it'll be the most beneficial to her, and it was just horrible, the idea of it. so after i cried for a fucking half hour about how horrible my mother is and how awful i feel because of her all the time, i was like, um, fuck you AND your horrible maternal instinct that wants to get rid of every fucking trace that you HAVE kids the second they move out, i'm on my way over, please don't be fucking your boyfriend when i get there, in fact, preferably, if you're not already back home, don't be there at all. yeah, no, she was there when i got there, and she wouldn't stop fighting with me, and sure enough her boyfriend was there (doing work in the bathroom) and got to witness all of it. except all HE heard was ME saying horrible things to mom first, because mom spoke in her normal voice when she was insulting me and saying horrible things at the beginning, until i got really upset and started getting louder and saying mean things to her. and i know i said some doozies, but you know what? YOU try being called a cunt by your mother from the age of 16, and see how much the fucking word means to you anymore, and how easily it slips out of your mouth at her. just try it. please?
and they say I'M fucked up. um, who calls their 16 year old daughter a cunt? fuck, who calls their 24 year old daughter a cunt?? even if it's true, who DOES that???
regardless. that was today.
but i actually wanted to write this for another reason. this has all been germinating in my head since last night -- not all this crap about mom, just this journalling thing. i have a lot of stuff i want to say, write about, and i don't know what to say. last night, i had a lot to say. earlier, i had a lot to say. now, i'm tired, and i'm cranky, and i'm just kinda done with this journalling thing. shit, i sound hostile, don't i? i don't mean to. i just can't say what i want right now.
oh, well. maybe later.
mwah!
~a
anyway.
i had a pretty bad day today, even with all of the above goodness. (also, pretty show AND queer as folk reruns Back. to. Back. Y'all.) my mom called me like, twenty minutes before i was about to leave to go to her fucking house to get some of my shit, to DEMAND to know when i was going to come get some of my shit. when i gave her my standard "i don't know" (which i know isn't entirely fair, but still, i mean, dude, if i'm gonna come over, i'm gonna fucking call her, you know??), she said, well, fine, then i'm gonna just start throwing your shit into plastic bags, and you can come get them before the end of next week. and i flipped out, because i am SO sick and tired of her nosiness, and of not having any privacy, and if she's gonna go through my shit then she's gonna LOOK at all of it, and store it all in the back of her mind to throw at me at some later point, when i'm not expecting it and when it'll be the most beneficial to her, and it was just horrible, the idea of it. so after i cried for a fucking half hour about how horrible my mother is and how awful i feel because of her all the time, i was like, um, fuck you AND your horrible maternal instinct that wants to get rid of every fucking trace that you HAVE kids the second they move out, i'm on my way over, please don't be fucking your boyfriend when i get there, in fact, preferably, if you're not already back home, don't be there at all. yeah, no, she was there when i got there, and she wouldn't stop fighting with me, and sure enough her boyfriend was there (doing work in the bathroom) and got to witness all of it. except all HE heard was ME saying horrible things to mom first, because mom spoke in her normal voice when she was insulting me and saying horrible things at the beginning, until i got really upset and started getting louder and saying mean things to her. and i know i said some doozies, but you know what? YOU try being called a cunt by your mother from the age of 16, and see how much the fucking word means to you anymore, and how easily it slips out of your mouth at her. just try it. please?
and they say I'M fucked up. um, who calls their 16 year old daughter a cunt? fuck, who calls their 24 year old daughter a cunt?? even if it's true, who DOES that???
regardless. that was today.
but i actually wanted to write this for another reason. this has all been germinating in my head since last night -- not all this crap about mom, just this journalling thing. i have a lot of stuff i want to say, write about, and i don't know what to say. last night, i had a lot to say. earlier, i had a lot to say. now, i'm tired, and i'm cranky, and i'm just kinda done with this journalling thing. shit, i sound hostile, don't i? i don't mean to. i just can't say what i want right now.
oh, well. maybe later.
mwah!
~a