Happy Mother's Day everybody.
I'm glad my mum decided to do stuff today cuz I'm going to need tommorrow to recover.
Have any of you ever heard me yell? Really scream in total fury after the very last struggling motes of patience have run out?
Tiff has. I used to yell at Tony all th time. Cuz I cared so much. It was wrong and stupid, and maybe that's why I'm afraid of the serious dating thing now - getting close and knowing me and letting me care infinitely for you is fine...
But I don't want anybody edging their serrated fingers under my skin.
I can't take it I can't take it.
On the phone (they called 7 times in a row yesterday, every time I'd saying something they'd actually *think* about it and call me back...) everything sounds almost - normal. Almost.
As if the past handful of years never happenned as if I've passed some magic test and now that I'm in the middle-class earning range and you can't see my tattoos for my clothes and my hair is an almost acceptable colour...
I mentioned thinking of buying a car.
The commute to work is a bitch and I can afford a clunker and being able to leave town when I want to would be nice.
My father's, who's gotten infinitely better since he retired, has too much time on his hands and has apparently made this his new project.
He wants me to buy a $15,000 car. I can NOT afford that, nor do I want to. At all. No way. Fine,I can't buy a $500 rustbucket like Cobalt because it wouldn't survive the winter. Fine.
But a $4000 car like Johnny's... That makes sense. And I've worked out a budget for it, and Johnny said he'd help me look around, rockin'.
If I take a deep breath and a long lavender bath I can't see any harm in my dad gettign all gung ho and wanted to be a dad for once.
For him, being a good father though, means giving me money. Not that Ineed anything else from him anymore, but...
I don't want it.
Anyway, we'll see. But I'm not buying a 1998 Camry because his idea of what I need is skewed by Canada, the land of the rich.
Regardless, I have to go take a serious bath before heading out to that party tonight.
I gritted my teeth and sneaked cigarettes in between malls and tuned out anything beginning with the frequency of my mother's "why can't you do anything right?" whine.
I don't care how proud their friends (or should I say friend in the singular?) say they are of me.
Doesn't make a bleeding difference, what does... Is the fact that every single little inconsequential thing I say or do is still WRONG.
Not on the phone when they're wheedling desperately to keep me on.
But when I'm in the car or in their house and trapped under their fat fingers...
"Why do you have to do this, why do you have to do that, why aren't you eating why why why why why..."
"Because because because because..."
"When are you going to grow up and become a good girl?"
"Never. Your idea of good is wrong."
"How can you say that to your mother..."
"Because she told me that desipte everything I've managed to do these past few years, because despite the fact that I finally broke down and let Steven convince me to be proud of myself, because despite the fact that there are some people out there who think I'm more than just some futureless loser... YOU still insist on telling me that everything I do is wrong."
I can't take it. After four, five hours... They start to get to me. Every single bite they take out of my pride and confidence eventually tears through the skin and they know it...
And that's when they start in on the nasty stuff.
"You were such a beautiful kid before you moved out."
Dad, I was the ugliest kid ever to un-grace to my elementary school, and the last time I let my mom dress me everyone made sure I knew that.
I came home crying every day don't you remember?
"No, you're crazy, you were such a beautiful kid."
LOOK AT THE FUCKING PICTURES ON YOUR MANTLEPIECE.
I was beautiful to you because I was some sort of accomplishment, some proof that the holocaust is over, that you'd made it rich like every polish jew ever wanted to.
But you never ever listened. Ever. I'm still not human to you, I still have no right to opinions, no right to stress about work, no rights at all.
So fuck you.
No more. You can think it's because I care too much, my father is prone to philosophizing nowadays and the fact that everything he's ever thought has sprung from false axioms is not my fucking problem anymore.
Just because you're offering me money doesn't mean I'm going to turn around and forget everything.
I'm not you.
I'm not thinking straight anymore. Every jagged thought that tore through me today is lying in a pool at my feet and I'm going to go take a bath and read my comic books and finish that book I was in the middle of and grit my teeth and put on something velvetty and sexy for the tactile party.
Or maybe I'll wear some boring material but exfoliate real well and wear very little of it so all my tattoos show.
Who cares. I gotta go. Thanks for being here, everyone. It's been a rough week, I'll stop being this one sided eventually when I squeeze the world under my thumb again.
Maybe. Or maybe I'll turn into my parents. Same rules as usual apply.