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2004-01-16 Shopping Day I did not go to bed in very good spirits last night. Earlier in the evening, my dad asked me if I'd take him shopping. I had planned on doing a bunch of writing and editing today, so I said 'no'. Not to be mean, or anything, but this is becoming a habit for him, and hey, once I get a job (and stay there, hopefully), he'll have to fend for himself. I was proud of myself for being so strong. And I was pleased that he seemed to take it so well. I was just about to head off to bed to read for a few minutes before conking out, and I went to say goodnight to my parents. My dad turns to me and says, "What time are we going shoppping tomorrow?" Fucking hell. Steam must have come out of my ears. My face must have gone crimson with anger. Come to think of it, I'm sure that my eyes were the color of fire. I turned to him and said, "I told you I wasn't taking you." He doesn't say anything. He just sits there and waits. Because now he expects me to push aside anything I have/want to do so that I can do something for him. This is not respect. I wasn't born to serve him, after all. I was born to make a life of my own. But over and over again, that life of my own is pushed off to the side to be developed at some later date. I know I've bitched about this before. But I'll bitch about it again. I often feel that I get no real moral support from my parents when it comes to my writing. My mom tends to be a bit better about it, in that she's more likely to ask me if I'm busy with my writing before asking me to do something for her. My dad? Never. It's not something that will bring money into this family within a day. Hell, it's not guaranteed to bring money in at all. My writing is not something that will necessarily benefit him, or at least not for awhile. Therefore, it is concluded to be unimportant. This does not sit well with me. I remember when I was in elementary school, how proud my parents were on parent-teacher nights, when my english teachers would praise my story-writing skills, telling them that while everyone did a good job, that I was at a higher level than most around me. Both of my parents beamed. I always felt encouraged to follow my dreams, to never give up. That if I worked hard and long enough, one day, that dream would become reality. I'm not sure when all that changed, but I haven't gotten that kind of encouragement in a very long time. To compound the situation even more, we finally get home after two-and-a-half hours, I've carried all hundred or so bags up the two flights of stairs having made repeated trips outside where I felt like I was going to either blow off the balcony or freeze on the spot, I made lunch for both of us. I come out of my room after having eaten while watching the soap I had taped, and he's sitting at the kitchen table, reading the TV Guide from cover to cover (wtf?), and the dirty dishes are still on the counter. I take him out shopping, and he can't even do the dishes?? Not even a thank you passed from his lips. Gah. Yes, yes, yes. Whine, whine, whine. But if you had to live here and put up with the crap I have to put up with day-in and day-out, then you'd be doing the same. I know there are some people who are worse off than I am. I have a roof over my head. I'm not starving. My parents don't lock me up in the cupboard. But when I have to keep putting aside everything that I want to do, and then I remember how some people tell me not to rush in the whole moving-out thing because my parents need me, it really pisses the fuck off. Okay. I'll stop now. * While out shopping, I decided that I might as well pick up a few things I need at the same time. My mom's birthday was yesterday, and as part of her gift, I've decided to cook her supper. Keep in mind that I deplore cooking. Gah. The faster the better. Anyway, I searched around online a bit last night, and came across something that sounds really awesome, and really easy. I'm making it tomorrow night, so I'll post the recipe then and let you know how it is. I'm hoping that maybe on Sunday, Andrea and I can finally go see LoTR: The Return of the King. Andrea's already seen it, but she doesn't seem to mind seeing it a second time. I'm even thinking that if she can't go on Sunday that I'll just go by myself because I'm terrified that I'm going to end up missing it in theaters. I saw the last two on the big screen, and so I know it's worth the money. Anyway, I'm off. And yes, I do feel better after my rant :) |
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