A rant. Otherwise known as Me Being Stupid. And its best if you don't read it.
ďNow its your turn to speak. Tell us what your thinking.Ē
I hate any form of that phrase. I truly do. It has always seemed to be the biggest, stupidest, lie ever spoken. It is always said in such a way that is supposed to be comforting. What a joke! What a joke. Iím sorry but if anyone knows anything about me, when Iím upset, I donít like to talk about it. When Iím really, really upset, I refuse to talk about it, because I know if I do, nothing but bad things are going to happen. Yeah, yeah I know ďIím being over dramatic.Ē Bah! I donít care. When Iím mad or upset you donít ask me to talk! I would rather bite my lip until it bled then talk. Because half the time when someone uses that all-so-wonderful (gag me with a spoon) phrase I have nothing going on in my head. Or at least nothing beyond trying not to barf and run off. So when Iím upset DONíT ASK ME TO TALK.
Dad got mad at me today. Really mad. And afterward he asked me what my side of the story was. I wasnít about to tell it. You want to know why? Because in my little messed up mind I believe that all my words will get twisted. And most of the time nothing can make me think other wise. But Iím going to tell my side of it. Right now. And Iíll probably get Ďtalked toí about this post. Dad will want to know why I didnít say it before, why I stayed silent, why I didnít mention it, etc. etc. You know why? Because I was too upset. And I didnít feel like cleaning up vomit. But Iíll say my side of things now, and Iíll try to relay what I think he thinks was the problem too.
I had an awesome weekend planned. It had been planned for about 2 weeks or so, and about last Friday-ish (as in the 24th) final details had been solidified. Yes, you heard right, I actually planned something ahead of time. Between the 24th and Wednesday, things went to hell. My weekend plans were as follows: Stay at home Friday night, do homework and catch up on sleep-after all, I had a big weekend. Saterday morning, go with dad to the big rocket launch, and after the launch, around 5 or 6-ish he would drop me off at my friends house (about 10 minutes from the field). I would shower, and change into my holloween costume (that I never bothered to buy), and at 7 hang out (aka. Party) with a bunch of friends I donít see often, due to different counties, until Midnight. Dad would then have picked me and Paul up on Sunday morning, we would have gone to day two of the Launch, and then have headed back up to Dale City. It would have been a good weekend. Needless to say, its 7:50, and Iím sitting at home typing this, and not at the party. Instead, I got stuck working today, the rocket launch was flat out cancelled because the farmer didnít harvest (I can sympathize with that), and I have a huge headache and my lip is bleeding where I bit it.
Now I, like any other typical teenager, got pissy about it. I didnít get pissy at work, gotta give me credit there, but starting at about 5:30 on the drive home from work, I started sinking into pissy-ness. After all, I wasnít going to get to see my friends this weekend. So me and mom got home, and ate dinner, which dad had already finished making, I changed into Ďhuman clothesí (aka. Jeans) and ate dinner. We watched a episode of West Wing and I had some apple/cheese cake-thing-ie. Which by the way was excellent. But I was still pissy. Mom and dad said to go feed the dogs. So I did. But it was that really nasty stuff that looks like corn beef hash. And as I stood there waiting for it to slide out of the can (as I held it upside down) dad said the first thing that pissed me off. I wasnít going fast enough. (Hereís my cue to get super snarky, I said not to read this.) I was waiting for it to slide out so that I could chop the Ďlogí in half and make sure the two dogs got equal amounts. Apparently thatís not how its supposed to be done. I shrugged it off (apparently with a lot of attitude) and did it dadís way. I then proceeded to feed the dogs. Afterwards I was cleaning their water dish. Dad asked for the rag. I balanced the dish-which was full of water-on the divider between the two sinks. And handed him the rag with one hand. Big mistake. The rag was wet, I didnít wring it out, and I didnít rinse it for him. I got an attitude. Me being the idiot that I am, didnít realize what I had done. Dad blew up, and told me to go upstairs. So a bewildered me did. A few seconds after I get into my room, still not comprehending what I did wrong, dad starts talking to me from the bottom of the steps. I lean on the railing and listen, I donít remember any of the exact conversations after this point. I got the gist of it though. Basically I was grounded from Stage Crew for the week, including Tuesday (a teacher work day). A few minutes later mom comes to the bottom of the steps (dad had left) and asks if I understood. I said no, and she said I needed to talk to him. I said okay, give me a minute (I needed to calm down, rinse my face with water, get a drink, etc.). I go down, theyíre talking, I get sent to the kitchen for a moment while they finish. I come back in, and it turns out Iím not grounded from Drama. Yea! But we hence have a conversation- aka. they talk, and Iím silent trying not to get in more trouble. By the end of it, I have no phone privileges, I can go to Drama, but I might not do the winter and spring shows. There was more that was said, but I donít feel like typing it. Because as I said, I still have a huge headache.
Dad just asked me if I was okay. My response: ďYeah, just a headacheĒ. He offered me aspirin, I said ďno thanks, I donít like aspirin.Ē Thatís all for now. But basically this whole thing happened because my weekend got ruined, and I didnít wring out a rag. And if youíve bothered to read all this, your freakish. And you don't know how to follow directions (or you just didn't want to). Lol. But bear in mind that that was a very, very simplified version of things, Dad could probably retell the whole thing from another angle and be just as correct. But to me, thatís what I believe happened.
God I need therapy.