Wednesday, 12 August 2009

I'm tired of the same old arguments.

Current mood:crazy
Life's just getting me down again.

I thought this year was going to be so much better, but it hasn't been, has it?  In fact, it's been the worst of the lot.

I thought I'd enjoy this summer; I always dreamed I'd have my driving license by now (hilarious, considering I can't even afford a single lesson!) and could have driven myself to the seaside a couple of times this year.  At very least, I thought we'd have moved to Woodberry, I'd have been wearing clothes I felt comfortable wearing, and been able to leave the house when I wanted.  Instead, I haven't left the house all summer except to visit the house where I should be living, and a couple of trips to the supermarket, holding my breath to "prevent swine flu".

I thought I'd be going to college this autumn.  I was scared this would be yet another wasted year, and Sarah tried to talk me into going to a drama school in Vancouver but there was no way I could have afforded it, and no way I was taking anything off of her, despite her kind offer.  Now - instead of that, I'm still in Grottsville with no prospect of education for ANOTHER YEAR.

Which kind of brings me into the start of my blog about today.  I woke up this morning with my throat completely filmed over, unable to breathe or swallow.  There's obviously another bunch of carpet beetles around, as we're seeing them all over everything, munching through yet more of our precious possessions whilst we're stuck in this dump.

By the time I'd cleared my throat, David had gone out to Richmond to buy a sample pot of Laura Ashley's 'Wisteria' paint without us, and Mum started screaching at me that I had "stopped her getting out of the house during her one chance of the week" .  Apparently, everyone stays indoors on Wednesday mornings, so there's less chance of catching swine flu (?!).  She then starts moaning - totally out of the blue - about her family history e-friend of three years.

Apparently, Jill dared to mention that she's gone to the hairdresser, and Mum told her that SHE would never waste her money on a haircut and would rather have a magazine to read.  So it's turned into a nasty argument between them, and it looks like Mum won't be speaking to her "friend" for much longer.

Mum's been a bit anti-Jill ever since she said something against David spending so much money on newspapers and book storage whilst we don't even have any proper dinner most days...which, of course, Jill wouldn't even know if Mum hadn't told her in the first place!  I pointed out that a lot of my e-friends had shown concern about David spending all the money before we moved house, despite the fact he promised to pay for me to go to college.

Suddenly, Mum flew off the handle, shouting at me that I "have a big mouth" and she "wouldn't dream of telling Emma and Jill about David taking a £60,000 payout instead of his full pension".  Well, why not?  Does she want them to think we're living off of a huge pension that doesn't exist?  £20,000 of the £60,000 has already gone on bills anyway.  The rest is being frittered on silly things like books and (stupid as it sounds) chocolate mousses.

Yes, this is the latest argument.  David bought himself a pack of six new - and very expensive - organic chocolate desserts.  He's now trying to claim that he bought them for us all to share, despite the fact he knows that A) They contain gelatine and B) Mum hates chocolate desserts.  Meanwhile, Mum and I are starving, eating bread and butter for almost every meal, and tonight we didn't even have that much (More about that later).

Anyways, back to the main subject.  "What do your bl**dy friends expect?" Mum screached.  "That's his life savings!  Is he supposed to send you to f***ing Vancouver with them?"  Um, excuse me?  Nobody EVER asked them for a penny towards our Vancouver ideas - it was something Sarah kindly suggested when we figured out I wasn't going to get any kind of academic training over here.

I was left speechless, so Mum continued, "I don't like your friends.  They're all short and skinny, and most of them are mental."  God, talk about cooties!  How immature and sad coming from a 52 year old!  And more to the point, who the heck is short, skinny or mental, as she put it?  The vast majority my e-friends are taller than me (although I guess 5'2" isn't really what you'd call 'tall', eh?) and of average build, and all of them perfectly sane as far as I'm aware.  Sure, most of us have/had depression/anxiety issues at some point, but I love being able to talk to other people with similar problems to myself.  It makes me feel better able to cope with my own panic attacks.  And please recall that Mum is just 4'10", so who exactly is she to talk about height anyways?  And what difference does it make if someone's 4'2" or 6'6"?  It's what's inside that counts, right?!

The day dragged on.  Mum sorted through her old Sindy dolls and found yet more carpet beetle larvae devouring their clothes.  I made some sales posts and hopefully have found homes for a couple of items (now just to get them weighed), and looked into setting up David's e-Bay account to sell as well as buy.  But the fees are ridiculous!  They take 10% of your final selling price as well as Paypal taking 3.4%?  And if you want to list something for more than a 99p starting bid you have to pay a 50p+ insertion fee on top?!  Now I see why people charge such ridiculous amounts for postage and packing!

Then David rang up to say that my bedroom carpet had been laid and the builders had painted the eau de nil wall at the bottom of the loft stairs.  "What does it look like?" Mum asked.  "Hmm... a bit different to mint crisp." David concluded.  He knows how to infuriate Mum (who hates mint crisp), doesn't he?!

"Come back here at once!" she ordered, demanding that we must all go over and look at the wall NOW and she "didn't care if the bl**dy Polish builders heard her yelling about the bl**dy wall!"

I didn't really want to go and be embarrassed by my parents immature arguments, but I DID want to see my carpet so I went to go and change into my (semi) decent clothes...then disaster.  I discovered that my last pair of horrid blue leggings are splitting down the seams.  What the heck am I going to do, since Mum won't go near shops due to swine flu?  She says we'll have to dash back to the market stall where these came from and get yet more of the ghastly things!  NOOOOOOOOO!

Well, one other thing she suggested before that - she said I should save the partially ripped ones for "special occasions" and wear my real scruffy trousers...which are really too indecent to wear around the house except for the fact I have nothing else to wear.  No way was I doing that in front of the Polish builders!  Anyways, whilst I was upstairs she took it out on poor Jill again, who was now snapping back in defense of herself, I think.  By this time, Jill was telling her how all female Jehovah's Witnesses (like Jill) wear skirts to the Kingdom Hall, and Mum was saying how ridiculous this was and how she would never dream of wearing anything but trousers.  Well, good for her.  But don't expect others to live by your rules!

Fast forward a bit, since it's very late (despite the juicy story about the woman two doors away calling the police about a gang of thugs across the street).  We arrived at Woodberry.  The builders seemed very friendly, smiling and greeting us - something Williams's builders never did.

I took one quick look at the two green walls (which don't contrast and "look exactly the same as each other" , by the way) and snapped a photo before Mum arrived, yelling, "Oh, my GOD!" in a disgusted tone...
 

...then I took my shoes off and jumped into my bedroom to hide from my parents petty arguments and the builders' shocked faces.  The carpet is GORGEOUS, at least in texture.  It's so soft and plushie, I kept sinking in it!  The only problem is that when it gets brushed up the wrong way, it tends to look a totally different colour.  It still looks messy in these photos because it hasn't been hoovered yet, but you can get the basic idea anyways.
 

Thanks to all of you who suggested a cream carpet.  I think it looks really good, although I'm still not sure how to keep it clean especially now that it's been laid with the builders still working there.  I'm still intending on moving in there as of saturday night (or at least sleeping over there), parents or not.  I need to get my ponies out of here because they're being eaten to pieces, and now going sticky in the hot back room too!

We had to rush back here because Mum was getting into another angry 'hit the wall' type of mood.  But I was supposed to be going back tonight to set up the broadband connection over there (David can't understand it) and to hoover my carpet.

When the time came to leave, Mum made a big fuss of whether or not she should come.  She "didn't want to be left alone in Grottsville after dark" but she "didn't want to come to Woodberry and be disturbed by the ugly green walls" either.  In the end, she decided not to, so I went upstairs to get changed again.  I was just about to come downstairs when a familiar voice yelled at me, "YOU'RE NOT GOING OUT, OKAY?!"  Okay, sure, now I'll just change out of these partially ripped trousers again, all the time trying to keep them going until I can get out of here and go shopping.  Why couldn't she have said that BEFORE I changed my clothes again?

David got angry and announced he was going anyway (he'd left his computer over there).  Nice for him.  He wanted to hoover my carpet, but I wouldn't let him, since I know he wouldn't take his shoes off and he'd make the carpet filthy with all the plaster dust that's still all over the landing floor.  He left at 7.45pm, saying that he'd just pop into the internet cafe on his way back, and then take us to Asda to get some muffins or (dare I say it?) yet more bread for tea, and something for dinner tomorrow.

Mum went to sleep on the lounge floor and I caught up with all my online correspondence.  To be honest, I lost track of the time, but at least I'm all up to date now.  When Mum awoke, it was 11.15pm...and David still hadn't arrived back.  Where the heck was he?  She rang him up...and he said he was "messing about with his bedroom shelves".  Huh?

He came back via Tesco (with no shopping list, of course).  To give him credit, he did try to ring us and ask what we wanted, but Mum rejected his call three times saying "if HE didn't want to take her shopping, HE could go without".  Um, but it's US going without food, Mum!

When he finally got back, he confessed where he'd been all that time - "I fell asleep at the bl**dy place" (That's Woodberry to those of you who don't speak David language).  Supposedly in his bedroom.  How do you fall asleep in an un-carpetted room, for God's sake?  If he went lazing around in my room, I will kill that man.  My bedroom is going to remain clean and tidy and my ponies and I shall entertain guests only when we want them!

And finally, having taken that little nap (for three and a half hours), Mum is now fully  awake and reading a holiday brochure.  In fact, I can see from here that she's comparing package tours to - my goodness, do my eyes deceive me?! - Vancouver.  WTH?  To be more precise, she's studying a photo of "those bl**dy boring totem poles" at Stanley Park.  HUH?  I thought she had "always hated totem poles and anything to do with Canada whatsoever...but especially those bl**dy totem poles.  That's all they ever mention in the 'Vancouven' reviews in my brochure - what a boring bl**dy place!"? (No, I kid you not.  She really says that - apologies to my Vancouverite readers!)  Admittedly, she's also looking at cruises from Alaska (where she does want to go), but she's certainly studying those Vancouver-only trips with a very strange look upon her face.  Why?  Whatever may she be plotting?  Perhaps she intends on going on a trip to see those "short, skinny, mental friends" of mine who reside over there for herself?  Be prepared, my dearest companions.  You may soon meet an even shorter, not-so-skinny but extremely mental lady...but don't worry.  She will most definitely be wearing trousers!

So, the moral of the story is, my friends, men fall asleep in unusual places, women say and do rather strange and random things at rather strange and random times, and YOU end up with no bread and butter for tea as a result.  Happy rest-of-2009, guys!

Best wishes,
Desirée Skylark  xxx

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