I really don't appreciate being treated like a child, however, I understand that you're messed up in the head and so long as I live here, you're going to continue to do this. Alternatively, the next time you call me a little shit just because I don't go to whatever website your sister told you to tell me to go to, I'm going to calmly turn this computer off, get up, go pack a bag full of clothes, and then walk out the door where I will proceed to a payphone to call someone to pick me up and take me to the bus terminal.
Number one, I go to this website every day and usually put in at least one application. They don't always have a job listed, or they have one listed in a city I can't get to easily. I've told you this. Every. Day.
Number two, you sit there on your ass, day in and day out, smoking two and half packs of cigarettes in five hours, then bitch and moan when I can't go right then to get you more. Now you're telling me I have to go out, wasting gas money, on the remote chance I'll get hired on the spot at some dingy place that's only willing to pay me minimum wage for a job that would ordinarily be salary? Yeah, why don't you try it.
Oh, I forgot. You're bipolar. You can't work because it upsets you.
You know what? Why are you acting like this today? What's different?
Ohhhh, I told my sister, the one who never comes to visit, that I'd be glad to go over for a few days to watch her kids while she and her girlfriend go out and have some alone time. And of course, this means that I'll become utterly useless...to you. I won't be here to go run the store real quick and get you those little things that seem to make your world go round. I won't be here to buy you dinner at Taco Bueno, even though I wanted something less greasy and easier on my stomach.
I suppose it doesn't help that Grandma called and bitched you out because the electric bill was high, but that doesn't mean you need to take it out on me. Certainly calling me a little shit, in that manner that would ordinarily get kids taken from their parents, isn't going to help matters. Trying to guilt trip me into something won't work either, especially when I used over two thirds of my income tax to pay my bills up to six months in advance.
Oh, and what the hell does writing fanfiction have to do with anything? I haven't written fanfiction in several months. The only serious writing I've done is filling out essay like questions for job applications, and every once in a while making a journal entry. Not that this has anything to do with you, because as soon as I get a job I'm out of here. Grandma's so worried about you, she can make sure you've got what you need to get by. Lord knows she screwed you over by letting you use your illness as an excuse to get away with what you've got away with.
Keep calling me names and treating me like less than a human being though, and I'm out of here sooner. While I'd prefer to have a job and continue to live in
Texas, there's someone in Vegas who's told me they'll be able to help me find a job there in my field and that I could stay with them until I got on my feet.
Maybe I'll leave this weekend anyway. I'm sick of this house and of everyone in it. I'm sick of being treated like I don't know what I'm doing. Most of all, I'm sick of not having a real family, just people who pretend to care because it's expected of them.
My mother seriously just got through calling me a little shit. It upset me more than it probably should have, so I wrote that little letter, and forcing myself to organize my thoughts has helped quite a lot.
Now to the fun stuff.
Harry Potter traumatized my nephew. He's two and a half and he put the DVD in after my sister put him to bed. So, he watched the whole movie in the dark in his room. My sister heard him crying two hours after his bedtime, so she figured he probably just had a nightmare.
Nope. He had stayed up and watched the whole movie, and when it got to the part where Quirrel got turned into dust because he couldn't touch Harry, the poor baby got scared and thought Harry was going to turn him into chalk--which is what he thought happened.
So my sister sat up talking to him, trying to tell him it wasn't real (she never lets him watch anything that she hasn't watched with him before, but he had snuck this one in, the stinker), and then came up with the idea that Quirrel was just a doll. Heh, that was worse! Little guy didn't want his doll turned to chalk either!
So, he calls our house and I'm all worried because it's after eleven, and I can't hear my sister anywhere, and I keep asking where she's at and he keeps saying "Mommy scared! Bang! Chalk!" and some other words I couldn't decipher because he was talking so fast.
Finally, he got annoyed with me because I wasn't understanding and gave the phone to her. She told me everything that had happened, and that she thought he was calling his Daddy to tell him. Then I realized what he was saying, and I was able to get him calmed down by singing "Are you sleeping", because he had to concentrate on that long enough to sing with me.
He's still talking about it today, but it was more of an excuse for him not to take a nap, rather than being afraid anymore.
He wouldn't watch the end of the movie again today though when my sister decided that was the best way to get him over his fear. He started shaking and buried his face into her shoulder and wouldn't look around til it was off.
Moral of the story: Harry Potter is a bad boy who turns people into chalk! Hehe