October 17, 2005

Don't Talk to Me.

I am in a bad, bad mood. I realize there was no entry on Friday, although I was working on the post all day. That is to say, I had cooked up a really good post, but before I could finish it, my life got bogged down with insane bullshit, which carried all the way through the weekend, and which I will now try to relate here. This will be hard, because I really, really don’t want to talk about it. I can’t post anything else, though, because I am so angry I can’t be funny. I can’t write any witty reminiscences or astute observations in the mood I am in.

Because I hate everyone.

So, as previously posted, my mother’s POS Saturn broke down, is over 100,000 miles, and is in need of repair. My brother and I have new cars, so we have been called upon to do most of the driving for the EIGHT PEOPLE in our family. All of whom are old enough to have cars of their own. Keep in mind also that he and I live in the city, and my mother and sisters live 20 miles away. After I was bullied into coming back to my hometown on Thursday night (see here), my mother calls me on Saturday to ask if I could drive her and my two sisters to their eye exams. I said yes. We got breakfast. My mother starts crying at the table. I try to cheer her up. My little sister offers to kill someone. My other sister complains about the restaurant. This is normally how this goes. She wouldn’t say why she was upset, but I think it was the fact that she doesn’t have the money to fix her car. I want her to be happy. I feel shitty that she isn’t. I wish there was something I could do.

And then… she needs a favor.

Not that she phrased it as such; I think she said “Would it be OK if I charged the repairs to her car on my credit card?”

Um, would it be OK? That really depends on the given value of “OK”. OK = [Nobody will die]? OK = [Actually, that’ll really piss me off]? OK = [I want my mother to stop crying]? Yes, I think it’s that last one. Unfortunately, OK = [I want Mom to be happy] > [The bill will so never get paid. Unless I pay it. For the rest of my natural life.]

I love my mother. That’s it. That’s really all I can say.

And to add injury to repeated insult, I locked myself out of the house on Sunday morning. I was on my way to work, so I locked the bottom lock and pulled the door shut, and reached for my keys. They weren’t in my jacket. This is where I slap my pocket repeatedly in disbelief, look up at the door, then try to ease the door back open. Naturally, it didn’t work. So I have no house keys, no car keys—and no cell phone, since it’s in my car—and I have to be at work in five minutes. I get out the bus schedule. Buses only run on the hour on Sundays. There is nobody I can call, not like I have a phone to call on, anyways. I can’t even call work and tell them I’m a moron. I just stand there looking at my door, wondering how my day could turn to shit so fast. One minute ago, I was reluctantly on my way to work—and I would give anything to have that minute back.

I will not cry. Crying is defeatist and unproductive. I do not cry. I get over it and plan.

I had no other option. I legged it to work. Bear in mind that I had already worked out that morning. I have fallen arches. I was in bad shoes. It’s about two miles from my house to Starbucks. When I was about halfway there, I noticed there was change in my pocket, so I called work and told them I’d be late. They were fairly understanding, considering I’m an idiot and it was all my own fault. I didn’t really want to call any of my family members because they would have laughed.

And then I would have cried. Crying is weak. Pathetic girls cry.

And I just now got back from taking the car to get it towed. On my lunch hour, at work. My father came with me. He sang the whole time. My father cannot sing. My sister had to come too. She thought there might be a chance of food. There wasn’t. She’s pissed at me now. I almost hit a man crossing in front of my car. He shouted something about a crosswalk, which there wasn’t. I honked and flipped him off. If I see him later, I will hit him with my car. I might even back up so I can roll over him six or seven times. When they arrest me, I don’t think I’ll avail myself of the right to remain silent. I think my lawyer will have the jury meet my family. I think I’ll be acquitted. I think I’ll cry tonight.

Seriously—I could kill and eat someone today.

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