|
|
|
|
     |
I have no fucking clue what's going on in that woman's mind So a few days ago, about half a week or so, I get a call from my dad, saying how he wants to meet up with me cause it's been a long time and would I call him back on Friday. I say sure without ever intending to call back simply cause I don't really want to see him. Yes, I know that he's my dad and all but you know what? He forfeited my automatic respect when he ditched us so the way I see it, I owe him neither kindness nor consideration. So anyways, fast forward to today, after dinner, there was a call while I was upstairs and when my mom hangs up with whoever, she calls me down. "That was your dad on the phone, he was wondering why you didn't call him back...when did he call you? I always ask you who called when I got home, why didn't you tell me!?!? Now I end up looking stupid because I don't know what he's talking about when he calls!!" Yelling and screaming, fucking bitch starts getting hysterical because I didn't tell her my dad called wanting to meet with me. To a certain extent, I tried to reason with her, slowly getting more pissed off as I did because there's a certain limit of bullshit I can put up with. Having her getting fucking hysterical, yelling some fucking paranoid bullshit about how I could be telling my dad everything that goes on inside her house and how I could be planning and scheming shit with him 'behind her back' is just a little bit too much. Getting more pissed by the passing second, I keep trying to explain to her that I didn't bother to mention it because: for one thing, I was never planning to return that call...I might now...and for another, it wasn't HER call, it was MINE. I don't mention calls from my friends for the very same reasons. They're inconsequential and obviously not her concern. Fucking ungrateful bitch man, I swear...muttering shit about how I'm a horrible son because I don't care how she feels or that she gets depressed every time my dad gets mentioned. Fucking blind...I could easily make things a million times worse for her...I could constantly complain and bitch about the fact that the house was cleaner with my dad around...that I had to do less fucking yardwork when he was around, that it used to be like this or that it used to be like that; there are too many ways to count but do I do these things? Hell no. Why? Because SOMEWHERE deep inside, I care about my mom just a TINY bit...but even that's starting to fade in the wake of fucked up paranoid bullshit like this. Would make more sense to accuse Jesus of conspiring with Hitler to kill the Jews. Does she consider any of these things? No. She judges how I care by her narrow fucking standards...by if I laugh a lot when she's around or if I talk to her...or if I do shit that I DON'T want to do with a 'smile on my face' to make things easier for her. She doesn't bother to consider the things that I do, like not bitch about the fact that my dad isn't here. Like not complain and say that 'well, dad would've done it THIS way' or the fact that I pretty much stay away from him. Does she consider these? No. She doesn't give a fuck about the things that I DO do, only the things that I don't. Now, I'll bet that tomorrow, after work when she's had a chance to cool down, she'll call me down to talk, in that disgustingly sweet voice that works on little kids, telling me that she was just upset last night and that blah blah blah. Well fuck her. I've said once, twice, and a million times over that I don't work like that. She does that to me tomorrow, the most she'll get from me is a monosyllable answer, maybe not even that as I head up to my room. Fucking ungrateful bitch... Sigh...somehow, I just noticed that a bunch of times when I get like this...there's never really anyone to talk to about it at that moment. Take now for instance...Helen, you're off camping...Jane, I haven't seen you online in days...Juliette...off having fun maybe? Hopefully? >br> Sigh...whateva...I'll deal... |