A quick note, written in a sour mood
So, the sleeping arrangements, here in Lafayette, Colorado (which you are to think of as Boulder, Colorado, the same way that many people think of Tacoma as Seattle), were that my mom and I share the guest bed, in the guest bedroom, and my brother had the well-inflated air-mattress on the floor of the study. About half an hour ago, my dickhead brother managed to deflate the air mattress. Well done, child.
As could only be expected, the air mattress could not be inflated to its pre-Charlie state. So, he wouldn't sleep there. My mom, because she's nice, offered to sleep on the floor of the study... and he accepted! I raised a fuss about being stuck sharing a bed with my teenage brother, of course, but this did not make anyone point out that the moron who let the air out of the mattress should be the one sleeping on the ground.
As you will remember, my mother has a bad back. She's also nearly thirty years older than both my brother and myself, respectively. Now, I know that modern American culture gives little respect or honor to one's elders-- and I'm normally for that, because I cannot count the number of times that I have been forced to conceed a point on which I know myself to be correct, just because someone with senority was my opossing me, and their age gave them a position of authority. In this case, however, I felt that it would be completely immoral of me to make my mother sleep on the floor of the study.
It was, to my mind, absolutely Charlie's place, not mine to offer to sleep on the deflated air mattress. He did not, however; the last time that I saw him, he was smirking from his my side of the guest bed.
The child has neither manners nor conscious. If I were in the other room, I would be too guilty about making my mother sleep on the floor to sleep. He? Fine! It's not fair.
And now, I'm in a bad mood, and thinking about things in a bad way; and you'd be amazed by how many things can be seen in a bad light. Shopping at Dillard's? No happiness of the beautiful Chinese red frock that I got (which is hanging up in the guest bedroom), but, instead, sorrow for all the dressed that I did not get, including one that was primerose yellow cotton and made be look insanely busty, like Blinkin, when he fixes his Picasso breasts. (Ahem. Sorry. Obligatory "Men in Tights" reference).
Watching "Adam's Rib" with my mother and Polly? It's not a grand feminist work, because no mention is made of the fact that Doris just goes back to live with her husband, who abuses her, and is still close to his mistress-- things are exactly the same as they were, before the movie started, and no one even notices. They just see peace and an awkward family reunion for the press, and then they put everything else out of their minds.
I really want to write more, as I'm not the least tired, but my typing is really loud, and it's past eleven, here. And even with my the study door closed, I feel as if I'm keeping everyone (my mother; my aunt, Polly; my cousin, Tony, who I know for a fact is just playing computer games in the next room; and even my brainless git of a brother) awake.
*wanders away muttering and waiting for her two sleeping pills to kick in*
As could only be expected, the air mattress could not be inflated to its pre-Charlie state. So, he wouldn't sleep there. My mom, because she's nice, offered to sleep on the floor of the study... and he accepted! I raised a fuss about being stuck sharing a bed with my teenage brother, of course, but this did not make anyone point out that the moron who let the air out of the mattress should be the one sleeping on the ground.
As you will remember, my mother has a bad back. She's also nearly thirty years older than both my brother and myself, respectively. Now, I know that modern American culture gives little respect or honor to one's elders-- and I'm normally for that, because I cannot count the number of times that I have been forced to conceed a point on which I know myself to be correct, just because someone with senority was my opossing me, and their age gave them a position of authority. In this case, however, I felt that it would be completely immoral of me to make my mother sleep on the floor of the study.
It was, to my mind, absolutely Charlie's place, not mine to offer to sleep on the deflated air mattress. He did not, however; the last time that I saw him, he was smirking from his my side of the guest bed.
The child has neither manners nor conscious. If I were in the other room, I would be too guilty about making my mother sleep on the floor to sleep. He? Fine! It's not fair.
And now, I'm in a bad mood, and thinking about things in a bad way; and you'd be amazed by how many things can be seen in a bad light. Shopping at Dillard's? No happiness of the beautiful Chinese red frock that I got (which is hanging up in the guest bedroom), but, instead, sorrow for all the dressed that I did not get, including one that was primerose yellow cotton and made be look insanely busty, like Blinkin, when he fixes his Picasso breasts. (Ahem. Sorry. Obligatory "Men in Tights" reference).
Watching "Adam's Rib" with my mother and Polly? It's not a grand feminist work, because no mention is made of the fact that Doris just goes back to live with her husband, who abuses her, and is still close to his mistress-- things are exactly the same as they were, before the movie started, and no one even notices. They just see peace and an awkward family reunion for the press, and then they put everything else out of their minds.
I really want to write more, as I'm not the least tired, but my typing is really loud, and it's past eleven, here. And even with my the study door closed, I feel as if I'm keeping everyone (my mother; my aunt, Polly; my cousin, Tony, who I know for a fact is just playing computer games in the next room; and even my brainless git of a brother) awake.
*wanders away muttering and waiting for her two sleeping pills to kick in*