last straw

Jun. 3rd, 2009 03:10 pm
notesinblue: (rage)
[personal profile] notesinblue
i know i'm not the first, nor will i be the last, but i can't stand my fucking mother.

this morning was the proverbial straw. it's not a huge thing. it's by no means the worst thing she's done, not even this week. but it was the breaking point. at this point i don't give a shit what she thinks of me, what she says to my father, or how i'm painted in front of my grandmother who arrives this evening. i don't care. because i just can't take it anymore.

i am the sickest i've been in a long time with tonsilitis. i haven't been able to get out of bed for the past five days. walking to the bathroom is taxing. the skin on my face is peeling off from the extreme temperatures of my ongoing fever. and i need my goddamn rest! and what does she do? she decides to clean the bathroom and guest room at eleven in the god damn morning.

i could hear her shuffling past my stairs and not-door over and over. every once in a while she would pause and listen, then proceed to be even noisier. i tried to ignore it and fall back asleep for an hour and a half, and then, and i still cannot believe this shit, she actually walks upstairs to my room and proceeds to put shit in my closet and move shit around.

i sat up and said, "what are you doing?"
her response, "i'm cleaning grandma's room."
my retort, "no. what are you doing?"
her reply, "i told you. i'm cleaning." then she flounced off back down the stairs. i threw my blankets over my head and seethed. then, i shit you not, she came back upstairs with my cello.

there is not a square inch of this room that isn't full. the guest room is empty and has a door to keep the dogs out, which is why my cello lives in there. she then proceeds to lean it precariously in front of my dresser. i sit up and glare at her.

"you can't put that there. i won't be able to get to my clothes."
"it's just while grandma is here."
"seriously, you can't put that there. there is no where to put that up here. i don't have a spot for it."
she moves it to block my closet door, which flings open at random when we get wind due to a bad latch.
"no. you can't put that there." i reassert.
"it's just while grandma is here. you can move it when you get up."
"there is no place to move it to. there is no room for it in here."
"you can move it when you get up."
and then she fucking walks off, leaving the damn thing leaning precariously against my closet and bookshelf. then she began vacuuming under my stairs.

i fucking freaked out.

i got up, threw on clothes, and proceeded to grab my laundry. i went to her side of the house. the kitchen was a wreck. the living room, wreck. her room, wreck. i threw in some laundry, used her bathroom, then rubbed snot all over her mouse and keyboard. childish, i know, but i don't plan on being close enough to her to sneeze in her face. then i went back to my room, dug around until i found some tacks and a sheet, then covered my damn non-door with a cloth barrier. STAY THE FUCK OUT!

and the best part. when she was done vacuuming she made her morning frozen fruit blender lunch and retreated to her studio. silence for the next two hours. dead fucking silence. she did not vacuum the rest of the house or clean up anything else. she could have waited until i was awake to do all that and hung out in her studio all morning and let me sleep. but no. housework before lunch. and i guess she was just too damn taxed from invading my fucking space to continue on and do the rest.

i just went and put another load of laundry in (yep, rest of the house still a pit) and i refused to acknowledge her. she knows i'm mad. she's probably mad too. she's probably already called pop and told him what an awful little shit i am. told all sorts of fucking lies like she always does. fuck her. i fucking can't stand her. i can hear her rustling around in the kitchen now. guess she's decided to clean up a bit now that she's finished her afternoon tea time. bitch. i am so done. i hope she does catch my tonsilitis so i can run a fucking vacuum through her room at one in the fucking morning.

i'm not sure what's worse: being sick as hell or being stuck here with her.


notesinblue: (Default)

January 2013


Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 09:03 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios