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Sunday, December 26, 2004
Now today I have eaten too much, and my relationship with my mother disintegrates like a newspaper umbrella. I'm sure she's losing it, because she's irrationally angry and finds all the wrong words. Which I then find in every other sentence of hers. But oh well.
I'm writing this on my knees, because the chair is downstairs to accommodate our guests. These holidays aren't relaxing at all, really. Every piece of free time is taken ungranted, and the only way to win is to be attritional. If Mum feels unappreciated, she's trying to put it back on me. 'Fran sleeps 'til twelve every day, Fran go walk the dog! Fran you haven't done anything today!'
But oh well. I'll win somehow, and I really should start doing homework. So oppressive it is... Every piece I do will come back twofold anyway, because it's a 'light' load for the holidays.
My towel smells of waffles when I take it off the rail; my mouth tastes of chocolate dust. I want onion soup. And snow. Is that too much? I'm quite bored with feeling down, and home. Why can't Mum see? She's destroying the centre of my life. She's got no right to tell me what to do, when she's never home and when she is she's semtex.
So, I think I'll spend time casually shirking responsibilities, going out and feeling constricted. Which is probably what I want to feel, or else I wouldn't let myself. I'm such a poser...
I'm writing this on my knees, because the chair is downstairs to accommodate our guests. These holidays aren't relaxing at all, really. Every piece of free time is taken ungranted, and the only way to win is to be attritional. If Mum feels unappreciated, she's trying to put it back on me. 'Fran sleeps 'til twelve every day, Fran go walk the dog! Fran you haven't done anything today!'
But oh well. I'll win somehow, and I really should start doing homework. So oppressive it is... Every piece I do will come back twofold anyway, because it's a 'light' load for the holidays.
My towel smells of waffles when I take it off the rail; my mouth tastes of chocolate dust. I want onion soup. And snow. Is that too much? I'm quite bored with feeling down, and home. Why can't Mum see? She's destroying the centre of my life. She's got no right to tell me what to do, when she's never home and when she is she's semtex.
So, I think I'll spend time casually shirking responsibilities, going out and feeling constricted. Which is probably what I want to feel, or else I wouldn't let myself. I'm such a poser...
