I honestly feel like I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of myself lately.
It’s just that it honestly bothers me that no one else does.
A few weeks ago, my mother (upon hearing that I moved out of the house I’d previously lived in-which belonged to my father-and into my grandparents’ house) offered that I stay with her for a few weeks during the summer while she was working so that I could watch my year old brother.
I did not want to at first.
Not even close.
My mother and I never get on well and she consistently feels the need to tell me what it is I am doing wrong with my life. As if I were blissfully unaware that I’m doing everything wrong entirely. We never get on and therefore, I did not want to live with her for three months and pretend we were best friends. I knew that would be wrong. I did not want to give up my job (where I’ve been working since October and have been quite proud to have gotten the job entirely on my own). I did not want to give up on my friends. I did not want to be so far away from the safety of my friends and family in such close proximities.
Needless to say, she persuaded me to go.
I have told my friends, I’ve told my work, and I’m supposed to leave in just shy of a month.
Her son acted up the other day and caused me great irritation. Especially considering he had been acting up for HOURS. Hours. I do not like children, much less do I like children who scream and throw tantrums.
So, she calls me up tonight (after I’ve had a particularly exhausting shift at work) to tell me she ‘doesn’t think it’s gonna work out’. What the fuck.