Because Reality is Whiny

My mother is either really persistent or just incredibly dense. I have a feeling it's a little of both. I sometimes find myself unexpectedly amused, touched even, by the woman's blind dedication to serve and protect. Tonight however, was not one of those times. She was nagging me about chatting up some boy from my childhood, now a trader in California. I don't know what's more irritating or insulting: The fact that she thought my single self was a desperate cry for her matchmaking skills, not to mention desperate enough to go across the country. The fact that this is the 20.5th time she's not so casually brought up my childhood best friend when I've made it very clear what I think about dating anyone she recommends. The fact that she repeats this with the same insistence and tone as if she were asking me to eat some more of her cooking, or to put a jacket on because it "might" be cold outside. Or the fact that this became the instigation for an unnecessary argument, yet another, between my dad and I. Oh did I fail to mention that my dad is home briefly from China?

My harsh responses to my mother's dim-witted proposal must have given me away, and dug me a hole I could not quickly enough climb out of, because they were both firing relationship questions at me. And I must admit I came off bitter and angry. My dad started to shake his head, frown, clear indications of what was coming: a life lesson. Beginning with my shortcomings. He was rattling off the list, I am simple, I'm only hurting myself in my hatred for others, forgive and move on, I'm wrong, principles, principles, principles. All wise sayings, no real advice to back any of it up. Most of it was right, but coming from him it was shit. Where were they when I was going through it? I briefly remembered an incident back in September. I had tried to tell them how I really felt, that heart break and pits of despair weren't just expressions used by those who are "weak" in character. They didn't react. In fact my mother said she was disappointed in me. Can you believe that, disappointed, like her daughter's sad mental state was the equivalent of getting bad grades or failing an exam. I haven't outreached since then, and I wasn't about to start now.

I started to lose it. It was all just so fucking ridiculous. Most of the time, I'm not even angry or bitter, I'm just trying to live. But with my dad it was never about "most of the time", he had gotten a whiff of weakness and was on my trail now. My parents, strange how they're never there to support, but always ominously present to criticize. Like that time in sixth grade, when I was wrongfully accused of cheating on a math test. My dad, my own frickin blood, sat in the teacher's office, in disbelief, asking me over and over again to tell the truth. He was worse than a stranger in that meeting, and I never forgot it. To present day, I realize not much has changed. That made me livid. I am the way I am today because I got myself through the rough patches, who were they to jump in at the last minute with their god fearing words of wisdom? I'm well aware that we are not emotional people, or particularly concerned with "soul searching." And when I'm older, I'm sure I will come to appreciate the odd ways in which my parents express terms of endearment. But now, I can't be bothered with all that. Because for now, I can only count on me.

PS. My ipod broke. Or rather froze. Everything I touch breaks.

PPS. I'm going back to fiction.