it's just the coffee talking
You know how sometimes you just want a bit of quiet time? Maybe you don’t feel much like talking and you just want a bit of time to yourself to think and read and just generally be alone. And then everyone constantly keeps on at you about being moody and have they upset you and why aren’t you talking to them.
Bloody annoying, isn’t it?
I know it’s your birthday, but I haven’t got you a card or a present as I think that would be pointless given that you’ve not spoken to me for almost a year now (plus I’d probably have a similar problem as Teesee in finding something even vaguely appropriate). I hope you enjoyed your birthday party; you didn’t invite me and D but that’s okay. I don’t think we’d have wanted to be there anyway, all things considered.
You’re 65 years old now, isn’t it about time you grew up? I know you had a shitty childhood because your mum died when you were only small. It must have hurt you more than anyone could understand. I get that. But do you really think it’s normal to carry that chip on your shoulder for over 60 years? To take your frustration and anger out on everyone around you? I’m appalled that you’ve been telling anyone who will listen (normally the poor milkman, he must dread going to the house) that you hate your children and we ruined your life. If I was in your shoes I’d move heaven and earth to make sure my kids had an amazing childhood so that they didn’t go through all the pain and misery that I did. Instead, your aggression and hatred has now brought me to the point where spending two minutes in the same room as you actually makes me feel physically sick.
Is that what you wanted? For me to be scared of you? Congratulations you nasty old git, you got your wish. Happy birthday.
Get me, updating twice in one day. Anyone would think this was a proper blog or something.
So, I was sitting in the kitchen the other day with my mum and sis, and mum asked sis to write out a birthday card for my uncle from her and her boyfriend. She did the same for my brother when he arrived, and gave him a card that she’d bought for him and his girlfriend. I asked if I should write out a card too but she said she’d put my name on hers because “you’re on your own.”
uhm… No. Remember that shy, nice looking chap that was with me the other evening? That’s my boyfriend, that is. Though apparently he’s not allowed to be included on a card since we don’t live together. Pfffft. Fair enough, I don’t see much of him because of the wonky hours we both work, and at the moment it’s doubly difficult because it’s the school holidays and he has dad stuff to do (and as he has 3 teenage daughters I can’t deny him the opportunity to spend time with them while he can, soon they’ll start moving on to uni or whatever else they have planned) – but that doesn’t make him any less a part of my life.
Lately whenever I’m around my family I just feel a little bit like I’m invisible or, worse, like I’m that one that nobody talks about. You know the sort – every family has one, right? It feels like everyone is moving onwards and upwards and I’m kind of stuck. It’s odd because I have a relatively good job, I’m looking to buy my own place and yet… it’s just not enough.
But, on the plus side, I found out today that the birthday cards have gone astray in the post. Shame.
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