I had a bad day. Okay, I didn’t necessarily have a bad day, but I had an emotional day. Nothing specific actually went terribly wrong. There were a few minor triggers that set me off, but nothing that should be considered significant. I’m just touchy these days, trying not to crumble from everything going on around me. Trying desperately to get my happy back.
After work, I wanted to go straight home to bed, but I couldn’t. I stopped at the store to pick up a couple of groceries my Mom mentioned us needing, just enough to tide us over until I do a bigger shop this weekend. Just about as soon as I walked in the door, I hear my brother talking about how someone keyed his truck and smashed the windshield and windows out… and I rolled my eyes. Why? Because his truck has been stuck in a mud hole 100 feet outside the legal area for 4 wheeling, for over three weeks now. After my Dad died, I signed my Dad’s car over to him because he’d trashed his previous truck. It took him less than two months to hit another car because he was driving like a dick on ice and snow, and then he took it onto some back road where it apparently “broke down” all on its own, and when he couldn’t afford to get it towed he just left it there waiting for some kids to smash out all the windows (which they did).
So basically, I’m just sick of hearing about this crap. Where is the common sense? Where is the pride? The appreciation for the things that you have and the things that have been given to you? (Did I mention that my Grandpa wrote him a cheque for his last truck? Stupid.)
While my brother is telling his story, I’m unpacking the groceries. I’ve got a short fuse to start with today but then I’m bombarded with “did you get this? What about this? Why didn’t you get this?! But I wanted THIS!” and I want to just throw my arms up in the air and tell them to buy their own fucking milk!
Sadly, this is coming from my brother, and he’s far easier to deal with than my mother.
In no mood to socialize, I quickly grab my dinner and retreat to my room downstairs to sit in peace. I’m barely down the stairs when my brother follows me down, yelling at me for not doing his laundry last night. Apparently he asked me to do his laundry and I agreed. HA! He should know me better than that. What he did ask is if I would put his load of wash into the machine when I took my last load out, to which I agreed, however he beat me to the punch and did it himself as I was tossing mine in the dryer. Why on earth he thought I would get out of bed after 11pm to finish his second load of laundry is beyond me, and why he thought he could yell at me for not wiping his ass is also a mystery.
So now I have escaped. I sit in my room like an introverted teenager and I wonder to myself… how in the hell am I related to these idiots? How can I be so fundamentally different from the rest of my family?!
I blame the milk man.