terrible fucking mood.[edited]

I am so angry and in such a bad mood right now. I was feeling a bit weird so I decided to surf through old documents from 2007. I came across a few AIM conversations that I had with this boy who I was very good friends with. These conversations were from a few days before he died. In one of them, he mentioned “I’ll talk to you on the 25th!”, and he died on the 23rd.

I was, of course, crying, and in a bad mood. My dad comes home and a few minutes later my mom wants me to come down and sort some stuff out for my trip to New Orleans. That’s fine, whatever. I take a few minutes to clean myself up (as I’ve been bawling). About two minutes later I’m screamed at from the kitchen to “get your ass down here right fucking now”. I reply that “I AM COMING” and mutter something along the lines of “Jesus fucking Christ and all his mother-effing descendants”.

So, I’m still a bit sad and now annoyed with my mother as I go downstairs. For the next five minutes I am yelled at about how I didn’t tell my dad something that I was supposed to, and “oh, Mike, did she mention to you anything about the money for New Orleans?” “Why of course not!” “Exactly. I told her Monday, what the hell is wrong with you?”, when in fact, I didn’t talk to my mother until late Monday night because she was in a different state, and all she told me was “I miss you Nor-ee”. What the fuck.

I’m pretty steamed by this point, at both Mike and Jan, so I’m drumming my fists angrily against my thighs. My dad starts pinkering around this packet of information for my trip, and I just want him to get on with it so I can go punch my bed in anger, to rid myself of the frustration.

We finally get a move on, but every FUCKING time we start to get something done (whether it be calculating how much money I’ll need each day or seeing what I’ll need to bring in the way of extra shiz), my mother screams some of her idiotic input from the next room. MOTHER, I do not fucking care. I am trying to figure out whatthefuck to bring since my trip is, oh I dunno, in less than a week. I’m only going to be in a different state in a town with high theft with about 15 people I know and 35,985 that I don’t, but who gives a shit right? You just have to put in your stupid fucking comments.

So I scream at her to please shut the fuck up. There is an angry sigh and a “no one appreciates me!” from the kitchen. My dad decides to take THIS EFFING MOMENT to go work on his computer. I am just so fucking frustrated and so I go punch some couch cushions. My mother yells at me to stop being so loud. COUCH CUSHIONS. I COULD BARELY HEAR THEM. WHATTHEFUCK, RIGHT?

Finally it’s over. I am about to step onto the first stair to solitude when Jan barks, “How many eggs do you want on your zucchini?”. Not bad, right? Wrong. The last time I ate zucchini and eggs, two weeks ago when my gparents were here, I threw up. The time before that? I threw up. The time before that? FUCKING THREW UP. So I don’t want to eat these damned nasty eggs, ai’ight? I THROW UP. IT’S A FUCKING TRADITION.

Oh, guess who’s calling me? And guess who gets to be an involuntary sprayer tonight? Me! FUCKING ME.

I am so angry. Goodbye.

N

Advertisements

~ by junkinmahcranium on July 15, 2009.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: