Well damn, has your day just been going great, and then this stupid thing happens and it really sours your mood? Well, there've been TWO incidents today to set me off.
I don't work so I rely on my parents to buy me things and give me money. A couple of weeks ago, I asked my Dad for some money (50€, to be precise. That, historically, lasts me about a month) and he went on and on about how he didn't have any money. I guess that could've been true, but a few days later, he and my mother go out and they come back with expensive leather items.
I'd gotten over that since then, because I know how my father is: he's rather loathe to let us control our spending ourselves. He prefers us telling him about things we want to buy and then giving us the money to do so. I guess it's some sort of messed up guy thing.
Anyway, today, my family's preparing to go out. My father hates staying indoors, especially when there are shops open and therefore things to do, so he's planned an excursion to a mall. It's a nice place, if not a bit on the smaller side. Mainly, he chose it because there's a toy store, so the children can run amok. He tries to cajole me into going along, never mind the fact that I:
- tire easily, and therefore don't like walking a lot
- don't like being in the children's company for long (yeah, they're small children; they can't help if they're annoying)
- get carsick, but no one takes me seriously because I haven't vomited yet
I'm glad I have this sort of relationship with my parent, really. We don't talk much (he's terribly long-winded and doesn't give straight answers and I bore easily), when I ask for his help, he won't give it (his standard response is 'you have internet, so Google it'), when I ask for his support, he won't give it, and he thinks that he can make me like him (or at least enjoy his company somewhat) by buying me things and shouting a lot. Looking at him disgusts me sometimes.
More things to explain: I sleep on a sofa bed that I fold up and put away in the morning. Part of the put away process is folding up the duvet and putting it in the bedroom, on my brother's bed. My logic is less people go in there (as opposed to the living room) and therefore, it'll get less dirty.
My brother more or less get along. Back when we were the only children around, we were the best frenemies. You know how that goes, sibling rivalry and all. But as he's mellowed from crazy kid to scorning-the-parents teen, we've gotten along better. I think it's because we've got a common enemy. We talk less often, that's for sure, with him stuck to his computer and me stuck to mine, but we listen when the other talks, and I'll often throw playful barbs at him. We're able to stay in companionable silence for hours at a time. But we're also liable to fight viciously. When we were little we got into physical ones all the time (until my mother told me I could actually hurt him, and didn't I relish the thought forever, because I can't do that now). Nowadays, it's more irritation with each other; each of us always wants to get the last word in, because doesn't that prove you're right?
Anyway, my brother goes to bed before I do, and tonight, he came out toting my duvet, like he usually does (or sometimes my other brother brings it out, for some reason). If he had started the conversation with "from now on, please come and get your cover yourself because I'm tired of bringing it", I could understand. I could've even rolled with it if he'd left out the "please" bit (because that would be more characteristic of him). But instead, he started an interrogation: why do you put your cover on my bed? Why don't you just leave it out here with the rolled up sheet that you lay on? And I'm like, fool, have you seen the way the kids play on the sofa (they won't play in the bedroom by themselves because they're scared to be alone). The sheet's always, always, getting undone, spilling out on the floor and getting stepped on. And the fool has the nerve to say "no, that's not true". What a jerk. If he spared his sibling some attention (outside of the regular tormenting bouts) and forgot about his precious Ghost Recon for a moment, he'd know what he said was BS. Granted, that wouldn't stop him from saying it, because that's the sort of person he is: confrontational and aggressive. Hormones have probably made it worse.
But whatever. Maybe I'm just sensitive. Or maybe people really are jerks!