girl-aflame's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Callous Sheesh. I don't fight very much with my grandmother anymore. I used to, when I was like 13 and thought I had to get the last word in, absolutely no matter what. Since then I've learned that if it means staying out of being grounded, it's best to pick your battles. But we've been fighting today and it sucks the big one. See, she quit smoking like, 9 years or so ago. About two years ago she would have a cigarette once every six months or something. But lately it's been more like a few times a week. I catch her smoking WAY too much and it's pissing me off. I tried to tell her that every time she smoked, I was going to smoke, and I did it too - my first cigarette ever.. hehe, goody two shoes me - but she didn't seem to care at all. So there went my brilliant plan. Now I don't know what to do. I just get pissed and chew her out about it. She gets bronchitus sometimes and it's so not healthy for her to do, especially since she already quit once. How stupid do you get? So today when I come out on the porch, where my family goes to smoke, I think I hear her say "Uh oh" when I come out. She swears she didn't, though. She wasn't smoking. But she snaps at me that she's not in the mood, and my grandfather chimes in that people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Upon inquiry as to what he feels my glass house is (the computer, I'm sure. He hates that I'm awake all night), he says I'm not perfect. A comment which leaves me aghast, you can imagine. *Laughs* Not because I think I AM perfect but who in the hell is? Does he think he is? So I stand there stewing a minute, choosing not to respond, when he reaches back and starts stroking my foot (he's sitting, I'm standing on the porch). He always does things like that to me, showing me this twisted weird affection that is not welcome at all. He doesn't mean it and I don't want it. So I jerk my foot back and scream not to touch me, prompting a lecture from my grandmother on being hateful. He's just kidding, she says. Well that's not a funny joke and excuse me for being too much of an asshole to enjoy having a creepy ogre of a man touch me when and where he feels like it. So I go in the house and she follows me. As I'm going to my room to sulk, she yells after me from the kitchen something about minding my business (except that wasn't it.. I can't remember what it is), about her smoking. I tell her that I'm concerned for her health - obviously she isn't. And then she says once I said that I needed her around to do the housework, which is why she couldn't get sick. So now she, who defends her creepy husband for his weird brand of "humor" is the one who cannot take a joke. If she really believes that I meant that - and I told her I didn't - that must mean she thinks I don't love her at all. Which is bullocks, pure and utterly, and it hurts me to think she would think it. I reutter my original "Sheesh" and suppose I will leave it at that. 2:03 p.m. - Saturday, Jul. 19, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||