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damnednforsakenI rarely put anything about my real life on here anymore, but I'm just so damned frustrated right now, that I really can't help it. I'm kinda long winded, as it were, when I explain things, so if you don't want to read a dissertation, run away now.
For those of you still here, thanks for taking the time to read this. As you do, bear in mind the fact that I'm a 19-year-old high school graduate with a steady volunteer gig at the local museum who gets up early just to make supper for the family so Mum doesn't need to do it.
Today is the first day of the Book and Bake Sale over at my church, and Mum and I helped set it up (i.e. pulled books out of boxes, organized said books, and tried to resist the urge to just burn the umpteenth Harlequin Romance Novel we had to shelve) yesterday morning. Last night, we did some baking to donate for the "Bake" part of the Book and Bake Sale: she made a pound cake, and I made two batches of brownies. No big deal; I like to bake, so I was happy.
She told me that she would need to run some errands today when we were getting the ingredients for the actual baking of the goodies, but she was making noises about wanting one day to actually sleep in because she rarely gets to. So... I offered to run the errands for her, and she, surprisingly enough, accepted. Mum is pretty anal when it comes to my doing pretty much anything by myself.
No exaggeration, the farthest I've driven by myself is down to the grocery store in my old town, which was about two small-town blocks from my old house. Even then, it was my dad who gave me permission to do that. Mum has never let me drive by myself before, unless it was to turn the car around in front of Wal*Mart to load something into the van. I was really glad she'd loosened the apron strings enough to give me permission, and I went on my way, happily baking and making dinner, doing chores and goofing around with her.
Later on in the night, she decides that she's changed her mind. Suddenly, I'm not able to drive down to the church to drop off the brownies and pound cake, swing by the grocery store to get a few things, fill the tank in the van and head home. No. She's hearing what she calls her "little voice" saying that I shouldn't go by myself; I'll get into an accident, she says. I may be the safest driver out there, but all it takes is just one idiot, blah, blah, blah. Usually, I listen to her feelings because they're damn accurate, but I knew this wasn't one of her feelings.
She just didn't feel I was "used to driving" anymore because I haven't been able to drive (wonder fricking why "Miss I have to do everything and drive everywhere and treat my damn adult daughter like a two-year-old") as much as I used to. That's another excuse she gives that pisses me off, but I just rolled with it. I let her know I really wasn't happy with her decision, but I gave in anyway because, let's face it, she owns the car, and she has the keys.
Things went downhill from there.
This morning, she got me up so we could drop off the stuff at the church. It takes me a bit to get up, so she called my name again about ten minutes later, telling me to hurry up. So, under the impression we were going to leave at 7:30, I got myself in gear and was dressed and all that stuff in about two minutes flat. Only to see Mum pick up her prayer book when I get into the living room. She hadn't said her prayers yet, and she was rushing me. I grumbled as much to her but got over it, and I waited for her to finish so we could go.
As we were headed out the door, at 7:52, I might add, she decided we were going to put the two pans of brownies in a bag to make carrying them easier. So, she put them in a bag, and we headed to the utility room to get our shoes and skedaddle (yes, I said skedaddle). As we went through the door, she turned, hit my back-pack-purse-thing, tipped the bag with the goodies, and dropped one of my brownie batches straight on the floor.We I picked up the brownies, made sure they were edible, and put them back in the pain, cursing a blue streak in my head but not saying much otherwise.
We went to the church: I drove with little to no communication, and Mum chalked it up to no caffeine and too little sleep. I didn't tell her that it was because of the fact that if she hadn't insisted in coming along the brownies wouldn't have hit the floor.
After we left the church, little things kept going wrong. We went to Winn-Dixie to just get soda for Da and pecans; we came out with roughly $50 worth of stuff, and, when we were inside, she spent nine-something dollars on two pounds of potato salad that only she and Rick ate (because they didn't save me any through miscommunication) but refused to spend $2.50 on getting me a 1/2 pound container of a salad I really wanted to try. I was steamed, but I let it go because I'm used to it, as frustrating and maddening as it can be.
When we got home, I put the groceries away, ate my really little bit of chicken/pasta salad, then curled up under my blankets in my room and drowsily watched Blade: Trinity (mmm... Hannibal King...). I came out after that (and being interrupted a few times in the interim) and made supper for us and Da's brunch. When that was done, I went on the computer.
I was left alone for a bit, thankfully, but then Mum started in on me because I didn't want to watch a movie with her. I'm still pissed at her, and I hate exploding so I'm avoiding her. She keeps interrupting me even as I type this to tell me that she doesn't mean to snark, but she just doesn't understand why we can't be together when she's home since she's gonna be putting in some long hours soon and barely see us. That's fine with me.
We're making more baked stuff for our little family-unit Thanksgiving this Sunday, and I just hope I can do it without killing her. I love my mother, but there are times that I dislike her so much I want to cry. She's controlling, manipulative, and so damned closed-minded it makes me want to scream. Things are her way, and if they don't conform to that, she throws shit-fits until we all give in just shut her the fuck up.
For those of you who didn't read all that, the long and short of it is that, right now, I truly cannot stand to be in the same state with my mother because of the way she acts towards me. I'm still a child to her, as in two-year-old child, even though I'm 19, graduated from high school, and have more responsibilities and burdens than she can fathom.
/rant
For those of you still here, thanks for taking the time to read this. As you do, bear in mind the fact that I'm a 19-year-old high school graduate with a steady volunteer gig at the local museum who gets up early just to make supper for the family so Mum doesn't need to do it.
Today is the first day of the Book and Bake Sale over at my church, and Mum and I helped set it up (i.e. pulled books out of boxes, organized said books, and tried to resist the urge to just burn the umpteenth Harlequin Romance Novel we had to shelve) yesterday morning. Last night, we did some baking to donate for the "Bake" part of the Book and Bake Sale: she made a pound cake, and I made two batches of brownies. No big deal; I like to bake, so I was happy.
She told me that she would need to run some errands today when we were getting the ingredients for the actual baking of the goodies, but she was making noises about wanting one day to actually sleep in because she rarely gets to. So... I offered to run the errands for her, and she, surprisingly enough, accepted. Mum is pretty anal when it comes to my doing pretty much anything by myself.
No exaggeration, the farthest I've driven by myself is down to the grocery store in my old town, which was about two small-town blocks from my old house. Even then, it was my dad who gave me permission to do that. Mum has never let me drive by myself before, unless it was to turn the car around in front of Wal*Mart to load something into the van. I was really glad she'd loosened the apron strings enough to give me permission, and I went on my way, happily baking and making dinner, doing chores and goofing around with her.
Later on in the night, she decides that she's changed her mind. Suddenly, I'm not able to drive down to the church to drop off the brownies and pound cake, swing by the grocery store to get a few things, fill the tank in the van and head home. No. She's hearing what she calls her "little voice" saying that I shouldn't go by myself; I'll get into an accident, she says. I may be the safest driver out there, but all it takes is just one idiot, blah, blah, blah. Usually, I listen to her feelings because they're damn accurate, but I knew this wasn't one of her feelings.
She just didn't feel I was "used to driving" anymore because I haven't been able to drive (wonder fricking why "Miss I have to do everything and drive everywhere and treat my damn adult daughter like a two-year-old") as much as I used to. That's another excuse she gives that pisses me off, but I just rolled with it. I let her know I really wasn't happy with her decision, but I gave in anyway because, let's face it, she owns the car, and she has the keys.
Things went downhill from there.
This morning, she got me up so we could drop off the stuff at the church. It takes me a bit to get up, so she called my name again about ten minutes later, telling me to hurry up. So, under the impression we were going to leave at 7:30, I got myself in gear and was dressed and all that stuff in about two minutes flat. Only to see Mum pick up her prayer book when I get into the living room. She hadn't said her prayers yet, and she was rushing me. I grumbled as much to her but got over it, and I waited for her to finish so we could go.
As we were headed out the door, at 7:52, I might add, she decided we were going to put the two pans of brownies in a bag to make carrying them easier. So, she put them in a bag, and we headed to the utility room to get our shoes and skedaddle (yes, I said skedaddle). As we went through the door, she turned, hit my back-pack-purse-thing, tipped the bag with the goodies, and dropped one of my brownie batches straight on the floor.
We went to the church: I drove with little to no communication, and Mum chalked it up to no caffeine and too little sleep. I didn't tell her that it was because of the fact that if she hadn't insisted in coming along the brownies wouldn't have hit the floor.
After we left the church, little things kept going wrong. We went to Winn-Dixie to just get soda for Da and pecans; we came out with roughly $50 worth of stuff, and, when we were inside, she spent nine-something dollars on two pounds of potato salad that only she and Rick ate (because they didn't save me any through miscommunication) but refused to spend $2.50 on getting me a 1/2 pound container of a salad I really wanted to try. I was steamed, but I let it go because I'm used to it, as frustrating and maddening as it can be.
When we got home, I put the groceries away, ate my really little bit of chicken/pasta salad, then curled up under my blankets in my room and drowsily watched Blade: Trinity (mmm... Hannibal King...). I came out after that (and being interrupted a few times in the interim) and made supper for us and Da's brunch. When that was done, I went on the computer.
I was left alone for a bit, thankfully, but then Mum started in on me because I didn't want to watch a movie with her. I'm still pissed at her, and I hate exploding so I'm avoiding her. She keeps interrupting me even as I type this to tell me that she doesn't mean to snark, but she just doesn't understand why we can't be together when she's home since she's gonna be putting in some long hours soon and barely see us. That's fine with me.
We're making more baked stuff for our little family-unit Thanksgiving this Sunday, and I just hope I can do it without killing her. I love my mother, but there are times that I dislike her so much I want to cry. She's controlling, manipulative, and so damned closed-minded it makes me want to scream. Things are her way, and if they don't conform to that, she throws shit-fits until we all give in just shut her the fuck up.
For those of you who didn't read all that, the long and short of it is that, right now, I truly cannot stand to be in the same state with my mother because of the way she acts towards me. I'm still a child to her, as in two-year-old child, even though I'm 19, graduated from high school, and have more responsibilities and burdens than she can fathom.
/rant
