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| My Parents are Children. |
Let me tell you about my fantastic Halloween.
(Disclaimer: I'm sorry if you feel this is just me complaining, but its more of theraputic for me).
It's my senior year right? It's basically the last chance I have to do anything with my friends that happens only once a year. Like, I don't know, Halloween?
But of course, like cold-hearted whore Fate would have it, all of my friends but two were gone on this day for goddamn college realted ventures. (See previous blog for bitterness).
So of course, I'm stuck at home with the rents, reading vampire trashy teen novels, handing out candy to slutty-ily dressed ten year olds.
Woe betide me.
I had eventually decided it wasn't so bad. I mean come on! Those little five year olds in bee costumes? Classicly adorable! I even caught myself wanting to hug those Darth Vader kids!
Once trick or treating was over, the rents, sister, and I went over to our awesome party-ing neighbors' house. The adults drank, I laughed, I wanted to punch my dad. A good night out in my book.
Now this is where the real magic starts:
We go home around midnight and I get ready for bed.
After wiritng for an hour I slip under my covers, just about ready to be dead to the world. I was so close!
And then I hear it.
Do you remember in Lion King, when Scar had said "Oh no, maybe it's you shouldn't turn your back on me..." And then Mufasa made that scary growling sound and yelled "Is that a challenge?!" You hear it? That growling and snarling? That's what I heard from my parents bedroom. Times twenty. And thats no exaggeration.
No, this is not some traumatic parents-having-sex-witnessing story.
My father was yelling at my mother like that. It was a holy-fuck-abusive-father yell. And she was yelling right back at him. (At some point she threatened to call the police). Mind you this started at one o'clock in the morning. And with the time changing an hour, it ended around three in the morning. Which means I didn't sleep for three hours. Its like Mother Earth was blessing me with another hour of complete torture.
Even now, I don't know what that fight was about, but somehow it ended up that my sister, brother, and I are lazy asses and we have no money.
That's a well known fact people. I don't see why this became a let's -see -who -can- tear -our- throat- cords- first match between my parentals.
And yet I had to sit in my room, to angry to move, literally shaking with my annoyance at them, and wondering when they would move downstairs so my little sister could come scampering to my room. (Which oddly enough didn't happen. She slept through the whole thing!)
It's not that I'm sitting here angry at my parents for sounding like they are getting a divorce, or I'm crying over the fact that they are fighting. Because I'm not. I feel none of those emotions.
1) They can't get a divorce even if they wanted one. It's too damn expensive.
2) Neither would have the balls to suggest one.
I was shaking with anger and annoyance because they were fighting over something so ridiculous in the first place. Seriously? Apparently, my mom had left without saying good night while my dad was clamly debating something with her.
... Question mark?
My mother is sensitive when it comes to debates. WE ALL KNOW THIS!
So of course she would get up and leave in a huff, but because they were drunk, my dad gets up and starts dropping the f-bomb like he's effing Fiddy-Cent.
So I'm just peeved. I'm tired, I'm annoyed, I'm peeved, and I want to fugging sleep.
What really wanted to do was get up and leave the house.
But my brother had the car still.
I wanted to go downstairs and scream F YOU! right back at them and make them feel like horrible parents.
But I didn't have the cajones.
I wanted to stand at the top of the staircase and glare at them, reprimending them like the children they are.
But only my mother came up crying, and I scampered back to my room like I was nine.
So I compromised. I left three stickey notes on my door knob telling them not to wake me up in the morning (like I got to sleep anyways), I'm not going to church, I'm not even going to my favorite aunts fiftith birthday party, and I'm not speaking to them at all. I told them on that little yellow piece of paper that they were children and if I heard that fighting again I was leaving and not coming back.
My mother sent me a text. "I'm sorry. Your right."
...
First of all, it's you're not your.
Second of all, BITCH PLEASE! Don't give me that you're right shit! This is not feminist power! This is not directed only at the loud father! This is directed at both of your horrible parenting!
So I have not spoken to any of them. I have not seen any of them. And I'm pissed that they have caused me not to see my Aunt for her birthday. I hope she tells her sister just why I am not at the party. Fugging whore.
Can you hear my bitterness?
Can I just close this with: I am the new alcohol police in this house. If I see another lemon drop pass their idiotic lips again, I am out of this house.
Nobody should fight like that in front of their children. Nobody.
Thanks for keeping me out a psychiatrists chair.
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