Saturday, August 28, 2004

Thickening.

I called my mom a bitch, once.

There is a reason, but it still doesn't make it right - on that I agree.

I went upstairs. I was scouring the house for my keys - I had lost them. I went into the computer room.

She was moving stuff around, and started yelling at me because I'd moved some things around in there when I was looking for my keys. I kept looking for my keys anyway - and a piece of paper fell from the desk.

She then proceeded to wail and yell and scream at me. I simply walked out, sick of being screamed and yelled at, and shut the door, saying, "I don't know why you have to be such a bitch today."

So when I come home from school, my mom says, "He called me a bitch," and then my dad starts going on and on about how I need to stop disrespecting my mother, and all this garbage.

It's pretty sad. If she doesn't like it when I called her a bitch, what she has to do is approach me about it - not do this "tattle-tale on Mitch to dad" bullshit she's doing.

Plus she takes things completely out of context - she just says straight-up that I called her a "bitch." As I showed above, it wasn't just that - there was actually a stimulus which brought me to say it - she was screaming at me too.

I mean, I think she deserves to be called a bitch, for all she's doing at this point - going out and drinking every night she possibly can, coming home at 2 AM and coming down to my room.

I remember one time.

I was downstairs reading Choke. It was the day before school. I was trying to relax, because tomorrow it started again.

She got home. I heard the garage door.

She came downstairs.

I could smell her. Perfume, smoke. The perfume was strong - it was as if the perfume was trying to cover up it.

She opened the door in my room.

She lied on my bed. I didn't like her there, but there was nothing I could do.

She began telling me she loved me, and she told me to tell her I loved her.

I'm supposed to tell her I love her when she's sitting here drunk. I don't think so.

I act like I'm trying to read my book. She takes it away from me.

She says some other things, and I just want her to go away. . .and eventually she does, frustrated that I won't give her any "contact," or anything.

As she walks away she says, "I never thought my son would be sitting there reading a book," and I think, well, there's a lot of people that read books. . .I'm no different and I'm no more special.

I cannot stand it when she comes around me when she's drunk. It's so annoying. She knows I am not the type of person that likes to be hugged and all that - I'm not some little baby. But she still does it when she's drunk.

And when she's drunk. . .god, I don't even know how to describe it. It's just really bothersome. She acts like some little girl, or something.

When I left for work, about an hour after school, I saw my mom and I told her, bye, female dog. I meant it in a sarcastic way - I mean, bitch is just a word, I swear all the time if I feel like it, and there was a stimulus that brought me to say it to her anyway - it's not like she's innocent.

When I came home from work about 9:40, my dad gives me shit for calling her a female dog as well. I told him I meant it in a sarcastic way, but as if he'll understand.

Also yesterday, before I went to work, my mom tried to make him sign this paper, probably a divorce paper. He read it and said he wasn't signing it - it said things in it that may have given custody of my brother to her, and that he'd have to give her $1,000, plus $600, a month.

When I left for work outside, they were sitting there - she was bawled over in her lap, crying, he was sitting.

I drove off and left for work.

When I got home from work, my brother had lost some of his front teeth because he passed out and went unconscious - and he'd also gashed this big gash on his head, which now had stiches in it.

What the hell's going on? Seriously, shit is starting to happen way too fast, my life's starting to get way too busy - I basically go to school now, then work - and on days I don't work I get the time I can get. . .but I work this whole weekend.

Bleh. Too much shit to think about.
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