I have come to the conclusion that my father has shit for taste. Honestly, we were at the mall last night, and he was trying to point out china sets I could buy when I move out. His tastes leaned toward the cheap, colorful, and chunky. Ick.
I admit, I've got champagne tastes. I honestly believe in buying quality over quantity (unless you're talking about souveniers. Then, it's tacky all the way). I also don't believe in buying things on credit and making payments. Doing that sort of thing is where my college fund went, because my father spends money like there's no tomorrow. My house is decorated in Early American Yardsale. We have Ethan Allen lamps from the seventies that have belaying pins!
I'm supposed to be writing an article. It came out last night that Dirk is a little upset that I spend so much time on this journal, and no time at all on Über Alles. Nevermind the fact that just about the only time I have for this journal is at work. So, an article. I have no idea what to write about. Part of the reason behind this journal is the fact that I'm a writer with absolutely no inspiration. None at all, at the moment. I think it got burned out of me temporarily.
That, and I feel silly when I get all descriptive and poetic.
I'm also supposed to be updating my bit for Diarist.net I haven't done anything to it since September.
On Sunday, I bought tubing for my Siamese fighting fishie's tank. I moved it to a larger hexagonal tank, so I felt obligated to hook up the aerator. Is he appreciative? No, of course not. He just glares at the aerator tube all day. Nothing else.
I'm thinking of getting him a friend. Maybe one or two of those tiny see-through fish with neon stripes.
We went to Don Pablo's on Sunday night, to plan the move-out. It is imperative that I get a female roommate, so that I'll get the fucking car and minimize the hassle from my folks. I just won't mention that Dirk's moving in, too. We also need to save for a while. Dirk would like to start attending college, and I eventually want to resume (on my own terms, of course). We also need a new computer. Trust me, if you saw the state of the one I have in my posession, you'd say I needed a new one, too. An early nineties CTX is a piece of crap.
I can't even run Windows 95 on that sucker.
Yesterday, I picked Dirk up from work, brought him to my house, and I slept until noon. Dirk slept until 3:30. I meant to do so many things. I got nearly nothing done. My jacket still needs to be dry-cleaned, my room still needs to be picked up. I still need to go clothes shopping.
I did, however, talk to Cathy about getting an apartment together. She's nervous, understandably. After all, she's never had to worry about finances before in her life. She's also as work-motivated as....Roachboy. Except her job of choice isn't as heinous as Roachboy's (Have you had your break today?). She's dedicated to her job at the PX, but it pays shit and she has little interest in finding a new one.
I think I'm due to hang out with 'Bert again tomorrow. I'll call and ask later. I also attached two pads to our wieght training machine. My father, bless his lazy little soul, just didn't feel like putting them on himself.
I've been thinking about the confrontation between my mother and I. It's been suggested that I was probably hung over. Maybe. Except I felt fine, physically. I was just sick of all the bullshit intimidation games I go through with her. She always has to prove that she's Top Bitch. She tries to control us, intimidate us, and make us Bend To Her Will. I am twenty years old, and I have to creep around like I'm still in High School. I have to ask permission before I do anything.
I paid for the goddamn classes I failed and, in my mind at least, that should make me exempt from her constant needling, demands, and guilt trips. It's not my fault my father was stupid enough to marry her (much less Emotionally Blackmail her into staying with him). It's not my fault that my parents think they screwed up their lives. I shouldn't have to pay for their fuckups, and they shouldn't try to re-live their lives through me.
They never went to their senior prom. They (for some odd reason) regretted this for their entire lives. Therefore, what do my parents do? Force me to go to my senior prom. Guess what? I'm going to carry mental scars from going to the prom for the rest of my life. (Yes, it was that bad. No, I'm not going to elaborate)
My whole life has been about them trying to accomplish stuff through me that my parents couldn't do when they were younger. And they're not motivated enough to try it now.
So I've had enough. I'm tired of feeling guilty for having desires and needs of my own. I'm tired of knowing that I'm a disappointment simply because I haven't turned into the little puddle of jelly they apparently want instead of a daughter.
But we're not here to bitch about my family.
I asked my supervisor, Rebecca, to be put back to full-time (I'm only working two days a week at the moment). That woman is special. She doesn't know if the program I'm under allows me to work full time. She has to talk to her supervisor first.
We're going to see CATS tomorrow. You know, the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical based on the book Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot.
Unbridled chaos, eh?
It seems that the more stuff I have to do at work, the more I feel I need to write in the journal. I'm sure the iced tea I've been drinking by the gallon isn't helping much, either. I feel awake, aware, and ready for action.
In other words, twitchy and spoiling for a fight.
Ooh. I just realized I haven't done my year-in-review and my resolutions. Stay with me.
1998:
Sucked. Completely and utterly sucked. Except the part where we got DoShu as a lead singer. And all the dirty bits between Dirk and I. And the hanging out with Katie and Chris bits. And the bits where I was drunk. And the time Roachboy's little cow of a "fiancee" had the stupidity to e-mail me and I made fun of her. And all the times I made Krisco cry. And all the gifts Dirk got me, those were appreciated, too.In 1999, I hope to:
Move out. Move out and make as many people's lives suck as possible.Ta-Daa! All done. Now on to the rest of the year.
It's been surreal. I love you all