substitute
12.18.03 @ 5:00 p.m.
I hate that my dad tries to substitute whatever he thinks is the next best thing when it comes my birthday. I'm very good about money and don't buy anything like CDs most of the time even though I'm dying to hear them and I wait patiently until my birthday for just a couple of CDs. I did not hold off buying specific albums for six fucking months for the next best thing, and I don't see how specificity is so hard to deal with.
And maybe it wouldn't be so bad if my dad didn't drop hints to make sure his substitutions are okay, because their ususally not and when I outright say "No, I don't want album B, if I wanted album B, I would have ASKED for it. There are things I'd much rather have." And then he gets all hurt and pouty because I answered his questions in a way he doesn't want. Sorry for my honesty. It also means any surprise is ruined and I just spend the run up to my birthday quietly dreading having to deal with getting rid of CDs I don't want without making my dad all sulky about my not wanting them.
It's stupid that I'm upset, because I was very happy until he started pressing me about a Kinks Greatest Hits collection that I just don't want. And now I get to stress over how to politely deal with all the drama that is likely to spring from it.
Anyway, happy things:
Dad came back from Music Millennium this morning with "an early birthday present" which I refused at first because, well, I'd just as soon wait until my birthday, thanks. He gave it to me anyway (and shouldn't have bothered asking if I wanted it now or not, really). It's a mod target sticker, about four inches across. I'm not sure where I want to put it. I toyed with putting it on the back of my laptop over the lit apple logo, but now I'm thinking it should go on my electric guitar in the place where I wanted to put a number, a la Townshend at the Shepperton performances. Except that my guitar is broken and I don't want to be throwing the sticker away if it's unfixable, though that's unlikely. It's just a stripped screw.
We also finally got the Christmas tree, which may well have contributed to the current bout of frustration. I'm vaguely uncomfortable buying a tree from a guy I rode the bus with in high school because there's nothing for me to say to him and I'd rather not try. And then we found the perfect tree fairly quickly, but no, we have to go through the whole damn lot trying to find something better and then we have to go hunting for that first tree all over again. We could have been home that much earlier if I had been listened to when I said that it was probably the best tree we'd find. I don't enjoy tromping through a blackberry strewn, hole-filled, muddy field. (Once my sister freaked out because I got inexplicably depressed and upset during the whole tree hunt and wandered off to cry. Hell, it disturbed me, but I kind of figured it was just a stupid teenage emotional thing and let it slide. One of the things I hate most about myself is that I start to cry very, very easily, even if what I'm feeling doesn't seem like it warrants tears, even to me. More often than not, though, it's the result of frustration and anger. I almost started crying last night while I was talking to Dad, I'm still so angry and bitter over the way my mother forced me to go to church with her until I was seventeen despite years of protests that I don't believe in God, I've never believed in God, and it's wasting my time because I would rather be anywhere else.)
And now, with excellent timing, I'm being called downstairs and I'm all teary from being pissed off. Fucking hell.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
