An impressive failure to understand the very fundamentals of me
I'm moving out in two weeks, or thereabouts. Someone at work was looking for a lodger, and I essentially snapped her hand off because I've had more than enough of dealing with being told to get out of the house over every minor disagreement.
There was another one of those disagreements today. With the same result as usual. This time over the fact that I'm moving out.
Somehow, in mother's world, she doesn't see the base irony of a conversation that goes:
"I'm leaving, and I'm taking my things with me."
"Get out of my house now."
I just... fucking hell, y'know?
The bone of contention was the fact that I want to take my things with me when I go. My computer, consoles, games, DVDs, figures, and books. Mother doesn't want me to. I know, this already sounds like a bizarro world conversation because who the hell tells someone to leave their stuff behind and then tells them to gtfo? I think she's hoping that I'll be back again within a few months, and really doesn't want to face the fact that the intention here is to walk out of that door and never ever live under her roof again.
But there's something else even more basic that she's not really getting.
My stuff? My games, and figures, and DVDs, and books? Are pretty much my identity. Especially my books. Leaving them behind feels like cutting off a limb. I had to do it every time I went into Uni accommodation and it sets my teeth on edge. I hate not having my books with me. I reread books until the spines wear out. I buy paperbacks specifically for that reason; my hardbacks are well cared for, because my paperbacks take all the abuse. I read a brand new hardback once, and then wait until the paperback version is released so I don't risk damaging it.
I fucking love my books, okay?
My books are up there on the same level as my consoles and games. They're just pipped in importance by the laptop, and stand just above my figures and DVDs. The reason, put very simply, is because that is pretty much the order of how much of my time I spend with the things. If I'm not on the laptop, or at work, I'm either reading or playing computer games. When I'm not doing those, I'm watching a DVD. My figures give me happy fandom glee to have around me. These are my interests. They're my hobbies. And they're a really vital part of who I want to be.
And they're a vital part that here, I can't have. My figures are still boxed up from moving out of Uni. My consoles, like most of my other electrical items, are stacked on the floor in a corner, in a position that makes playing on them uncomfortable, because I've got nowhere else to put them. My books and DVDs are in the spare room which is more often utilised by the stepdad and mother. Even my laptop is confined to the bed, no matter how much I long for a desk.
This is the arrangement because it's meant to be temporary. I have my stuff with me, but not in a way that I enjoy accessing it, if I can access it at all. Somewhere along the line, mother has gone and forgotten that the reason the things that are out here are out is because I can't go a week without them. The only reason my books are on a shelf and not still in boxes is because I kept going through the boxes. It's the same with the DVDs, and it's why the consoles are actually plugged in and ready to use, even if I have to pull the quilt and pillows off my bed to give me somewhere to sit while playing them.
She says I won't have enough space for it all where I'm going, but what she fails to understand, aside from the often repeated I'm twenty five; it's my problem and I'll deal with it if it arises is that I'd buy a single bed again before I leave my books here.
I own a double bed. I'm taking it with me. The bed isn't a part of my identity, it's just comfortable, and also actually mine, and the last time I left furniture here and went away, that furniture got thrown in a skip. I will make the sacrifice and sleep in a single bed again if it means I have the space to keep my books with me, rather than half an hour away.
I'm taking my stuff because I'm not going to another place with the mindset of it being temporary so I may as well not get comfortable. That is exactly what I did when I came back here, and look how long that's lasted.
So I told her, several times during this conversation, which, incidentally, she'd just walked up into my room to have with me while I was asleep - it's been warm, I've been sleeping naked, she knows this and still came toddling up into my room when she felt like it - that I don't want to leave my things behind and that if I have space issues, or want to decorate after I've got all my stuff in and have to move it all out again, or if I move somewhere else in six months time, these are issues that I will deal with, and not things she should bother to worry about.
And that prompted the reply, "Well pack your stuff now. I'm sure she'll take you early."
THAT. THAT RIGHT THERE. That attitude of "omg how dare you try and take adult responsibility for yourself and the problems you may be causing yourself, get out of my house" mixed with "omfg how dare you disagree with what I think, get out of my house" is EXACTLY why I'm fucking going.
I know I may struggle for space with a double bed as well. I know that things may not work out with this girl and I want to move out again in a few months. I know that I've got no intention of being there forever anyway.
That isn't the point.
I'm going, with no intention of coming back. So I'm not leaving these things that are really damn important to me behind. And if my mother can't understand how important they are to me, or would prefer to pretend that than accept that yes, I really am finally going, then I can't help her.
There was another one of those disagreements today. With the same result as usual. This time over the fact that I'm moving out.
Somehow, in mother's world, she doesn't see the base irony of a conversation that goes:
"I'm leaving, and I'm taking my things with me."
"Get out of my house now."
I just... fucking hell, y'know?
The bone of contention was the fact that I want to take my things with me when I go. My computer, consoles, games, DVDs, figures, and books. Mother doesn't want me to. I know, this already sounds like a bizarro world conversation because who the hell tells someone to leave their stuff behind and then tells them to gtfo? I think she's hoping that I'll be back again within a few months, and really doesn't want to face the fact that the intention here is to walk out of that door and never ever live under her roof again.
But there's something else even more basic that she's not really getting.
My stuff? My games, and figures, and DVDs, and books? Are pretty much my identity. Especially my books. Leaving them behind feels like cutting off a limb. I had to do it every time I went into Uni accommodation and it sets my teeth on edge. I hate not having my books with me. I reread books until the spines wear out. I buy paperbacks specifically for that reason; my hardbacks are well cared for, because my paperbacks take all the abuse. I read a brand new hardback once, and then wait until the paperback version is released so I don't risk damaging it.
I fucking love my books, okay?
My books are up there on the same level as my consoles and games. They're just pipped in importance by the laptop, and stand just above my figures and DVDs. The reason, put very simply, is because that is pretty much the order of how much of my time I spend with the things. If I'm not on the laptop, or at work, I'm either reading or playing computer games. When I'm not doing those, I'm watching a DVD. My figures give me happy fandom glee to have around me. These are my interests. They're my hobbies. And they're a really vital part of who I want to be.
And they're a vital part that here, I can't have. My figures are still boxed up from moving out of Uni. My consoles, like most of my other electrical items, are stacked on the floor in a corner, in a position that makes playing on them uncomfortable, because I've got nowhere else to put them. My books and DVDs are in the spare room which is more often utilised by the stepdad and mother. Even my laptop is confined to the bed, no matter how much I long for a desk.
This is the arrangement because it's meant to be temporary. I have my stuff with me, but not in a way that I enjoy accessing it, if I can access it at all. Somewhere along the line, mother has gone and forgotten that the reason the things that are out here are out is because I can't go a week without them. The only reason my books are on a shelf and not still in boxes is because I kept going through the boxes. It's the same with the DVDs, and it's why the consoles are actually plugged in and ready to use, even if I have to pull the quilt and pillows off my bed to give me somewhere to sit while playing them.
She says I won't have enough space for it all where I'm going, but what she fails to understand, aside from the often repeated I'm twenty five; it's my problem and I'll deal with it if it arises is that I'd buy a single bed again before I leave my books here.
I own a double bed. I'm taking it with me. The bed isn't a part of my identity, it's just comfortable, and also actually mine, and the last time I left furniture here and went away, that furniture got thrown in a skip. I will make the sacrifice and sleep in a single bed again if it means I have the space to keep my books with me, rather than half an hour away.
I'm taking my stuff because I'm not going to another place with the mindset of it being temporary so I may as well not get comfortable. That is exactly what I did when I came back here, and look how long that's lasted.
So I told her, several times during this conversation, which, incidentally, she'd just walked up into my room to have with me while I was asleep - it's been warm, I've been sleeping naked, she knows this and still came toddling up into my room when she felt like it - that I don't want to leave my things behind and that if I have space issues, or want to decorate after I've got all my stuff in and have to move it all out again, or if I move somewhere else in six months time, these are issues that I will deal with, and not things she should bother to worry about.
And that prompted the reply, "Well pack your stuff now. I'm sure she'll take you early."
THAT. THAT RIGHT THERE. That attitude of "omg how dare you try and take adult responsibility for yourself and the problems you may be causing yourself, get out of my house" mixed with "omfg how dare you disagree with what I think, get out of my house" is EXACTLY why I'm fucking going.
I know I may struggle for space with a double bed as well. I know that things may not work out with this girl and I want to move out again in a few months. I know that I've got no intention of being there forever anyway.
That isn't the point.
I'm going, with no intention of coming back. So I'm not leaving these things that are really damn important to me behind. And if my mother can't understand how important they are to me, or would prefer to pretend that than accept that yes, I really am finally going, then I can't help her.