How to Disappear Completely

Okay, I can't wait to get out of this house and as far away from my mother as possible. Yes, I love her. Yes, I care about her. But I'm only human and I can only endure so much before my shields are completely depleted.

Me: Would it be okay if I had a few friends over on the 23rd of July for my birthday?
Mom: Maybe. We'd have to be home then.
Me: Why? I'd be perfectly capable of taking care of things; I have in the past.
Mom: No, I don't trust you.

And she left it at that. Fun times, I swear. When she's not venting and ranting to me with all her money problems, I'm just usually stuck listening her complain about some other aspect of her life. And when she's not doing either of the two, she's constantly on my case with some inane argument.

My mom fails to grasp my optimism, let alone my lack of worrying--she's more worried about me not affording to go off to university next year than I am. I've always lived one day at a time; I rarely plan a year ahead of me let alone a week or a month, with some exceptions like seeing Blue Rodeo come late August--something that has been planned for months now. Maybe I only plan ahead when love is involved, especially knowing that my boyfriend will be thrilled. But I digress. Life has taught us many lessons on how nothing goes as planned. As long as you're happy and comfortable with what you're doing, why worry about anything else? Worrying has a funny way of making planets out of pebbles. Or mountains over ant hills, if you prefer. Obviously if you stop worrying, the pebbles stay as pebbles and ant hills stay as ant hills.

The taste of freedom last September was such a tease. Granted I have a lot more freedom here than before I moved away to university, I still feel claustrophobically confined within these walls. I feel like nothing is mine in this house; my brothers constantly parade around my room, taking whatever they please. Furthermore, I don't even feel like this is my house...my home belongs in Kingston. I hate this place. It's not home; it's not even a place to hang my hat. I'm a temporary guest in this hotel, who will have only left their mark by the ruffled sheets on the bed--and that's to say if I don't take my sheets with me to Kingston.

My mom does mention how much she'll miss me even though I'm a sarcastic ass at times. She can never talk to my brothers like the way she does to me. I think I'm the only one who actually listens to her. I've been the only one who obeys her more often than not as well. I'm the only one who actually approaches her so she can vent. Lately, though, I have had to distance myself off from her, something which she isn't so happy about. Understandably so.

My air is slowly running out, and I don't know how much more I can take before I'm forced to inhale my mother’s worry-water. As fun as this doesn't sound, it's only a matter of time, I'm sure. If anything I'll become more and more irritated. Ah, yes. That's something to look forward to.

And this concludes today’s incoherent rant.




After reading what I wrote, I find that this makes everything seem a tad worse than it is. But whatever.