hate & war
04.16.05 @ 1:16 a.m.
My least favorite parent-child interaction in the entire world is "coping with mild-to-moderately inebriated parent." I've never had to field this one with my mother; I do not doubt that it would be terrible and surreal. No, it was my dad who came home from poker tonight with his maudlin levels all elevated. ERGH. "D'you know how terrible it is to feel totally grow away from your friends?" Perhaps the more terrible part is that I cannot make myself say something like "I hate you when you're in this mood and actually have no patience for you, but you are not astute enough to hear in my voice the way I'm barely containing my contempt and anger."
So, in a horrifying turn, my dad starts in with a thinly veiled attempt to maybe find out just what the hell is wrong with me. Why I am not apparently looking for a "mate." This is what I get for fucking mentioning my few straight male friends in the course of an anecdote. Fucking, fucking hell. Do you, you stupid bastard, honestly think that I'm alone entirely by my own choice? Am I not insecure enough without you fucking asking me what's wrong with me? I guess I do a good enough job of counterfeiting self-assurance. Be fucking grateful my insecurities manifest in social hermitage rather than promiscuity. Be fucking happy that I can value myself for myself and not in relation to a man. I mean, most of the time, I do okay. I don't beat myself up over my social anxieties and such too much, but I don't need a goddamn reason to hate myself. Why not just come out and ask me why I don't have a boyfriend and why I am not apparently worried about dying an old maid. He actually said that when he was my age, people seemed to be more worried about things like dying an old maid. The implication is that if I don't start dating immediately, (what am I supposed to be doing? throwing myself at my classmates and shouting "Take me!"? I'm sorry that I'm not outgoing and not particularly pretty or adept at social interaction) I will be not just a pathetic spinster, but a disappointment.
Bastard! Utter, utter bastard! How can anyone question why I generally choose not to drink, when all I see is the kind of self-pity and jerkassery from my dad and pathos/bathos from my grandmother?
Aaaaaaaaaaand of course I'm crying. Of course. And I wouldn't doubt that I read a lot of subtext into a rather short conversation, but I'm really fucking hurt.
Why should I be surprised that my parents don't know a goddamn thing about me? At least Mom is tactful and HAS ENOUGH SENSE to not hurt me like that. Not to mention that she didn't marry until she was 29.
The one moment of delicious absurdity I extracted from the whole conversation is that my dad's ex-wife is dating her sister's husband's former dope dealer. CLASSY.
It's been a generally miserable day. I left Eugene at 2 p.m. and didn't get to my house until 6:30. Some fuckwit wrecked his log truck south of Salem resulting in hours of boredom. I did actually have a book on tape in the car, but after a while I got bored with it and had to put in a tape of American Idiot and later Queen's A Night At The Opera before eventually going back to the audio book. I missed half of geology. I skipped Intro (this actually makes quite a nice day, as it is one of the more boring classes I've had to sit through) and had to listen to Boren dissect a book I had not read more than 15 pages of.
Jeff Goldblum is on Conan right now and it is bizarre, and is doing wonders for improving my mood. I probably shouldn't write in the immediate aftermath of something like that conversation, and initially I was angry and not sad. I probably make things worse by dwelling and analysis.
Well, even though things went terribly wrong at the end there (not that Dad is likely even faintly aware that my feelings were hurt or my ire raised), I am ultimately glad I'm home, because I was stressing to death in Eugene and suffering from the solitude of living by myself. I need the occasional break from my own company. Tomorrow Mom and I will maybe poke around the Craft Warehouse for fun and to think about projects for her class to do. I've lost all enthusiasm for buying Dad a birthday present, though I know what to give him after talking to him this afternoon, but I'll probably do it anyway. And by tomorrow, I'll probably have forgotten my resentment.
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
