yaum
I want out.
Today has been one of those days where I just wish I were 40 already. Where I got through college, somehow, and got a job - moved out of the house and found someone to spend the rest of my life with. Married without children, but living. LIVING. That seems to be the point of life, right?
It just doesn't feel like that anymore.
I have to find a way to make MUSIC the equivalent of LIVING...at least in the slow times like these. I need to practice...I haven't been. A large part of it probably has to do with the fact that I am HERE. And I hate HERE. I hate HERE more and more by the moment. With every stupid thing my mother says - to no one in particular. To all the goings on and on and on in an annoying voice about something I don't give a damn for or had nothing to do with in the first place.
Just because I live in this house means that I'm involved, even to blame, if we run out of butter and no one told mom before she went to the store.
I want to be 40 so...so I can have opinions about MY LIFE that will actually matter - and be taken into consideration. So I can say how I feel and not be told "you're 18" as though my numerical age defines the limits of my emotions. So that I can be as far away from this place as I can manage - and have my parents out of the picture. Ao I can go about my day without being asked what my plans are or what I'm doing when I move from one room to another.
Yaum.
I got in a horrible fight with my mother a couple weeks ago, before I went on a much needed hiatus to Cleveland. I told her that I wanted to be independant. She basically laughed at me. I guess that, in order to be independant, I have to get married at age 18 and go off to Texas to live with my husband in a trailor. Or go with him to Germany where he is stationed on the military base or what-not. I would, gladly, if it meant never having to come back here. I don't know...they like having me under their thumb. They like knowing that I can't do anything without their fucking okay. I can't even think about changing my major without making my mother depressed over how much time and resources she's given up because music was what I wanted to do.
What the fuck about my time??
I'm just getting upset again, and it's not healthy for me. I need a way to relax...and writing about these things is clearly not it.
Goodnight.
Today has been one of those days where I just wish I were 40 already. Where I got through college, somehow, and got a job - moved out of the house and found someone to spend the rest of my life with. Married without children, but living. LIVING. That seems to be the point of life, right?
It just doesn't feel like that anymore.
I have to find a way to make MUSIC the equivalent of LIVING...at least in the slow times like these. I need to practice...I haven't been. A large part of it probably has to do with the fact that I am HERE. And I hate HERE. I hate HERE more and more by the moment. With every stupid thing my mother says - to no one in particular. To all the goings on and on and on in an annoying voice about something I don't give a damn for or had nothing to do with in the first place.
Just because I live in this house means that I'm involved, even to blame, if we run out of butter and no one told mom before she went to the store.
I want to be 40 so...so I can have opinions about MY LIFE that will actually matter - and be taken into consideration. So I can say how I feel and not be told "you're 18" as though my numerical age defines the limits of my emotions. So that I can be as far away from this place as I can manage - and have my parents out of the picture. Ao I can go about my day without being asked what my plans are or what I'm doing when I move from one room to another.
Yaum.
I got in a horrible fight with my mother a couple weeks ago, before I went on a much needed hiatus to Cleveland. I told her that I wanted to be independant. She basically laughed at me. I guess that, in order to be independant, I have to get married at age 18 and go off to Texas to live with my husband in a trailor. Or go with him to Germany where he is stationed on the military base or what-not. I would, gladly, if it meant never having to come back here. I don't know...they like having me under their thumb. They like knowing that I can't do anything without their fucking okay. I can't even think about changing my major without making my mother depressed over how much time and resources she's given up because music was what I wanted to do.
What the fuck about my time??
I'm just getting upset again, and it's not healthy for me. I need a way to relax...and writing about these things is clearly not it.
Goodnight.