Update on the Moving Bullshit:
Let's see.
You guys all know I'm supposed to be moving out of my grandfather's house because my aunts and mom are selling it this month- that much is in motion already.
You also know my mother is now living in Texas.
So I was supposed to go and live with my sister's family until May since I can't get into the dorms before then....
...except first off, I find out months too late that it was up to me to call my dad and ask him to let me come (ask him to let me come? as if I have a choice as to where I stay?), which I did, and he told me I had to ask his parents since it's their house- which apparently required me to apologize to his mother for snapping at her on the phone several months ago because "your mom might have tolerated that kind of behavior but we don't" and other lectures about biting the hand that feeds you even though it has slapped you numerous times...but whatever. I understand that right now I'm in a position where I need anything I can get so I bit the bullet and apologized, and she hemmed and hawed like she just did not know whether to accept my apology because I did her some great affront by being annoyed that she was bitching at me because I wasn't living in the dorms yet (why is this your business, again?) and I told her the deposit came too late (WHICH SHE KNEW, SINCE HER SON WAS THE ONE WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO PAY IT AND SHE YELLED AT HIM AND AT MY MOTHER ABOUT IT WHILE I WAS THERE), and I finally got annoyed with all her questions (I was in a bad mood that day already in the first place) and snapped that I didn't know.
Anyway. Moving on.
So I had to apologize and then ask her if I could come live with her (what does this make me look like? can anyone guess? great, thanks. I'm so sick of being put into posiitons where the people who intentionally make my life the most fucking miserable turn out to be the people I have to run to for help. Bullshit biting the hand that feeds- I shouldn't have to be fed by a hand that, as I said, slaps me more than it feeds me) and she told me she had to think about it and talk about it with her husband (UH HELLO YOU SAID I COULD COME TO YOU WHENEVER I NEEDED SOMETHING AND WHAT IS THERE TO DISCUSS? YOU ACT LIKE I'M SOME SORT OF CRIMINAL YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO LET AROUND YOUR KIDS OR SOMETHING.)
So I get home to a voicemail from my mom yelling that I should have been moved out by today and call your grandmother immediately because I told you to pack your stuff and be gone by the weekend, you're not a baby anymore, etc. etc. etc.
So I called.
And the response I get from my grandmother is "I'm not finished" (talking to granddad, obviously, because it takes a whole fucking conference to decide whether I can live in a house I've been sent to over and over during my lifetime).
Which is not fucking good. Because I have to move out of here before this week is out, I'm packing with no fucking help and I have to put half my shit in storage, my aunt has no fucking consideration for this and keeps alternating between nagging me about whether I've called and made arrangements and pretending to cry and saying "Oh, what's going to happen to you?" "Oh, poor Pif" and bullshit like that.
I have to be gone before the middle of the week pretty much, my room is only half packed (but that part is my problem), I have nofuckingwhere to go, no job, six hundred dollars (that'll last me long, wow) and I'm doing the only thing I really can do, rofl: cry.
and for some weird reason I am itching really badly underneath the skin of my left hand so that I keep having to squeeze and twist it.
Fuck my life.
Right now, anyway.
You guys all know I'm supposed to be moving out of my grandfather's house because my aunts and mom are selling it this month- that much is in motion already.
You also know my mother is now living in Texas.
So I was supposed to go and live with my sister's family until May since I can't get into the dorms before then....
...except first off, I find out months too late that it was up to me to call my dad and ask him to let me come (ask him to let me come? as if I have a choice as to where I stay?), which I did, and he told me I had to ask his parents since it's their house- which apparently required me to apologize to his mother for snapping at her on the phone several months ago because "your mom might have tolerated that kind of behavior but we don't" and other lectures about biting the hand that feeds you even though it has slapped you numerous times...but whatever. I understand that right now I'm in a position where I need anything I can get so I bit the bullet and apologized, and she hemmed and hawed like she just did not know whether to accept my apology because I did her some great affront by being annoyed that she was bitching at me because I wasn't living in the dorms yet (why is this your business, again?) and I told her the deposit came too late (WHICH SHE KNEW, SINCE HER SON WAS THE ONE WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO PAY IT AND SHE YELLED AT HIM AND AT MY MOTHER ABOUT IT WHILE I WAS THERE), and I finally got annoyed with all her questions (I was in a bad mood that day already in the first place) and snapped that I didn't know.
Anyway. Moving on.
So I had to apologize and then ask her if I could come live with her (what does this make me look like? can anyone guess? great, thanks. I'm so sick of being put into posiitons where the people who intentionally make my life the most fucking miserable turn out to be the people I have to run to for help. Bullshit biting the hand that feeds- I shouldn't have to be fed by a hand that, as I said, slaps me more than it feeds me) and she told me she had to think about it and talk about it with her husband (UH HELLO YOU SAID I COULD COME TO YOU WHENEVER I NEEDED SOMETHING AND WHAT IS THERE TO DISCUSS? YOU ACT LIKE I'M SOME SORT OF CRIMINAL YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO LET AROUND YOUR KIDS OR SOMETHING.)
So I get home to a voicemail from my mom yelling that I should have been moved out by today and call your grandmother immediately because I told you to pack your stuff and be gone by the weekend, you're not a baby anymore, etc. etc. etc.
So I called.
And the response I get from my grandmother is "I'm not finished" (talking to granddad, obviously, because it takes a whole fucking conference to decide whether I can live in a house I've been sent to over and over during my lifetime).
Which is not fucking good. Because I have to move out of here before this week is out, I'm packing with no fucking help and I have to put half my shit in storage, my aunt has no fucking consideration for this and keeps alternating between nagging me about whether I've called and made arrangements and pretending to cry and saying "Oh, what's going to happen to you?" "Oh, poor Pif" and bullshit like that.
I have to be gone before the middle of the week pretty much, my room is only half packed (but that part is my problem), I have nofuckingwhere to go, no job, six hundred dollars (that'll last me long, wow) and I'm doing the only thing I really can do, rofl: cry.
and for some weird reason I am itching really badly underneath the skin of my left hand so that I keep having to squeeze and twist it.
Fuck my life.
Right now, anyway.