Saturday, 12 July 2008

My head or my heart? Which will give out first?

Current mood:  miserable

I know I usually wait until the evening, and then use this blog as a place to have a moan about my wonderful existance.  But I can't wait out today - I need to have a moan right now!
Mum still has her funny stomach and is now refusing to eat, so she's losing more and more weight, and is really tired.  She had a slice of bread and butter for breakfast, and begged David to take her out to do all the weekend shopping jobs while she still had the energy from eating that, but instead he stayed in the bathroom until 11.30am, then took AGES to finally help me wrap up a couple of parcels of pony stuff I'm trying to sell, which the poor buyers have waited and waited for shipping estimates on.  But why NOW, when he knew Mum had to go out early or not at all?!
He took so long about the packing the post office was shut anyway, and then he went BACK in the bathroom for another hour, before finally taking Mum and I out (Mum really weak, and hungry) at 2.30pm.
So we couldn't go to Hounslow and go clothes shopping as I had hoped.  Instead, we just went straight to Woodberry in order to measure the bathrooms so we could go to Bathwise and pick out some furnishings.  But when we arrived, we discovered the builders were at work upstairs, and Mum refused to go anywhere near them.  It was "too embarassing" to measure anything in front of them, and she "needed to go in there in peace so that she could think about things".
So we just had a look around downstairs, I took some more photos...and we got to see where they've drawn out lines on the path outside to show where the new extension will go.  And they've made it much bigger than Mum was promised, which means she is losing a lot of the garden.
She got really upset that the place is no longer the "family house" she remembers, and she can't "hear the old voices and clinking glasses when she comes down the stairs anymore". They are shrinking her family history room, by bringing another section of the wall over to make more room for the toilet under the stairs, and also want to raise the extension and the garden (there's currently a step down into the extension), which would mean the neighbours - including the ones who went in and stole half of Ron's possessions the day he died - would be able to see straight into the house, and watch whatever we were doing.
David went upstairs alone, while Mum and I walked down the road a little way, and she could watch her beloved trains from the overpass.  When he came out, he admitted that, despite the fact Chris says he's changed it now, Mum's bedroom is still ten inches smaller than it was, because of the stairs to David's loft.  So she definitely can't get her bed and a chest of drawers in.
Mum wouldn't go and look at bathroom furniture, because she wanted to see the rooms first.  And anyway, we're "not moving now" again, because David's messed up hr ideas with his loft.
So we drove home, while the pair of them gave me a headache ranting at each other, and David kept coming up with petty little arguments.  For instance, Mum said "when my cousin Allan saw the house after Ron died the first thing he said was, "these doors are the same ones that were here when we were kids", and now the doors are gone." speaking of the bedroom doors, the architect has trashed without our permission.  David's comment?  "That was the FIRST thing he said, was it?  Strange that the FIRST thing he commented on was something upstairs."  WTH?  Does it really matter what he said first or last?  Mum was just speaking generally.  She started to cry after that, and I ended up slapping David around the shoulder again, which only made things worse, of course.
When we got in, Mum put the vegetarian cottage pie in the oven (she only had about a third of her serving though!) for forty minutes, and spent the entire time ranting at David, who is upstairs drooling all over the communal bed again. (Oh, God...she's just gone up there again now...I can hear them squeaking at each other in nasty tones)
She says unless the architect moves the wall back where it was before, she's definitely not moving house.  David has no heart to not be able to understand she's lost her family house.  He's a stupid b*****d.  He's lied to her, as he always agrees with the architect, so he must know things about the house that she doesn't.  He isn't answering her.  I have a headache.
Then she comes down here, trying to upset me again - I just put my headphones on, and listened to a recording of one of my Canadian friends which was sent to me not so long ago.  I swear that Vancouver accent is a drug.  I can just block out these idiots if I turn it up loud enough, and end up with a stupid grin on my face.   "I don't know what you're grinning about - I MEAN IT THIS TIME!  I'M NOT MOVING!" She says.  I just kept smiling, and she got more and more annoyed.  "You can't bother me." I said.  "My life is ruined anyway.  I don't care anymore."  Her answer? "Your life is f****d up anyway.  You weren't wanted.  I don't know why he made me have you - neither of us wanted you.  That's why you haven't got a bedroom.  WHY WERE YOU BORN?!  And why don't you just p*ss off now?"
If she'd said that six months ago, I'd have been upset.  Not now.  I didn't even shed a tear, or feel like doing so, which is kind of sad in itself.  I don't care any more.  I want to p*ss off, as she puts it.  You think I'm in rotten England by choice?  If I could only get a proper education, I'd be trying to get to British Columbia as soon as I hit my 21st birthday.  I still intend on getting to Vancouver somehow.  I know my voice is improving.  I know I can still be a voice artist, whatever they all think.
I also know my mother knows of my dreams now too, despite what she says.   Of course, she hasn't said a word to me, but she's dumb when it comes to computers, you know?  Things get left on screen when she thinks they're gone.  Whatever would you do if I hadn't been born, Mother?  Wouldn't have anyone to rant about to everybody then, would you?  Say what you like about me, but don't slur HIS name, or anyone else's for that matter.  You don't even know him.  Also, do my feelings towards another human being really bother you two that much?  Even if it were true, which it isn't, by the way.  And no, he doesn't think what you think he thinks either.  I can be 100% sure on that.  He thinks no more than the truth, and probably knows a million times more about me than you do anyway, as neither of you ever bother to talk to me, or take the time to see my true feelings.  All I'm saying is, we're all humans, we all have a heart (I hope), and I'd like it if we could all lead our own lives without constantly trying to hurt each other.  That's the last I'll say on the matter.  Thank you.
Right, I'm off now, for the next lot of nastiness from my mother.  At least while she's picking on me, she's not picking on the people who've been nicest to me these past two years or so...
Desirée Skylark  xxx

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