11/28/2005 - 4:27 a.m. | not as clever as you think!

Subject: Friday, mostly angst

If there were ever to be a musical based on these writings (and I�m not saying there should be� I�m just aware of the eventualities of hack writers trying to cash in in any way on my inevitable rise to stardom), I would like this part of it written roughly as follows:

Kyle (hopefully played by an aging David Allen Greer):
Something innocuous!

Missy and Mom (together):
Why don�t you let us read your diary?
Why don�t you ever visit?
What is it you feel for us exactly?
If anything?

(Insane dance montage wherein the two spin around sobbing through fog and laser light shows, to indicate madness)

As you might have guessed, I have ticked my mom off again. What�s it been, six whole months now? That�s not a bad stretch.

Anyway, it started, as I said, with something relatively unimportant that Kyle said. My parents and I were out for a drink somewhere, and Kyle called to let me know that Ducky had called, and that they were gathering up as many of the All-Stars (This is what Kyle calls the 10 or so most dynamic people in his life) to come back tomorrow, Saturday, to get drunk and have antics.

In all honesty, folks, I wasn�t even really thinking about going. Honestly. I had been saying I planned on staying �til Sunday, and I meant it. Nobody asked me about this, and no one will believe me anyway now, but there it stands nonetheless. I told Kyle maybe because I always tell Kyle maybe. I can�t say flat out no to the boy, so I try and keep his hopes up until he actually figures out what I meant. And by then he�s usually drunk, so it�s cool.

However, this was the final straw for my mother, although I would not learn this until several hours later when she burst into my room bawling, telling me to leave right then, not come back for Christmas, etc. Oh good. I put down my book. I am still rather calm as she begins to explain her grievances � everything is done on my own time, we didn�t talk, I don�t want to be here, and so on.

Maybe the first part is true, but I took some issue with the latter parts. Luckily, I�m not as scared of her as I used to be, so now I can strike back. And I did, flat out telling what a bitch she�s been the whole of my short visit here. She doesn�t say anything, she�s been in a lousy mood, the whole time, skulking around, she yelled at Dad today, the only things she seems to like are babies and alcohol, so on and so forth. I didn�t used to be the type to argue.

She counters with something along the lines of, �Well, I knew you didn�t want to be here, so I didn�t want you here, something something something.� I have since been trying to figure out the chicken-and-egg logic of all that. She wanted me here, but I did not apparently want to be here, which is only because she is acting like she doesn�t want me to be here� because I don�t want to be here. And so on. Personally, I think I�m doing a damn good job here. Who wants to hang out with someone so sullen?

Besides my dad, I mean.

So she storms off and sobs dramatically for the next half hour or so as I listen in. She goes down to talk to my dad and twists my words, saying that I�m mad because I want her to kiss my ass while I�m here, and she won�t. Have you ever felt rage actually sweep up through your torso? I was sitting here listening, still pretty calm, and she said that, and I actually felt the anger in my body. Somewhere between my chest and stomach, like a little thundercloud or something. My immediate reaction was to go downstairs and tell her what a c-u-n-t she was and let her know I was just fine with never having to deal with this madness again (�Never again will I darken your doorstep� was what I planned to say dramatically), grab my shit, and go. But, unlike her, I�ve got a little more control over my emotions than that (Some might say too much control, but I am digressing), so I just continued to listen as she asked my dad if it hurt him in the same way. I couldn�t hear his response, but from hers I�m not sure it does. Probably because I haven�t actually done anything really hurtful.

Is this really the same gene pool of crazy I come from? I mean, I saw it there for a while, but did I ever have outbursts such as these? If so, I�m really sorry. Maybe I�ve been more diluted by my dad than I thought, maybe I am still overmedicated, maybe she�s smack dab in the middle of some hardcore menopause, I don�t know. But right now, I�m sitting here, and I don�t think I�ve wronged anyone as bad as she acts. Like, when I fuck up with Missy, at least I acknowledge it. I�m not comfortable with our relationship, so I tend to dance around it, which is upsetting. I get that. This, though� I dunno, man.

How did I fuck up this weekend, seriously? OK, I came home sort of late, but it doesn�t seem worse than anyone else I know. Kyle and Spritz aren�t even seeing their families. I went along with them on Wednesday with only the requisite amount of resistance � and again, that�s more for show than anything (although, admittedly, I already thought she was acting weird). Even with all this family stuff, I�ve been in relatively good spirits. Maybe not super talkative, but more than I used to be. I didn�t lurk in a corner. I played with babies and made conversation when necessary. Didn�t bitch or act sullen, just swam along with things. I was open to suggestions and appreciative (to the best of my knowledge). And all of this in the face of her nonstop whirlwind of nastiness. I don�t know, I just don�t get it. I know she and I have different ideas about the importance of family. She sees hers all the time, and they see each other all the time� but hell, they live half an hour apart, and I am far the fuck away. And, admittedly, very defensive of my time. It�s a flaw, that�s true, but I�m on par with just about everyone else I know. I call sometimes, and I visit for a little while on holidays. Isn�t that normal? Who comes to see me ever?

Anyway, I was sick of thinking about this, so I passed out for a couple of hours. Mom in her room, Dad downstairs, me in here. The jolly Walshes. My dad came up around 10, which woke me up. He looked in on me, and after saying good night, I sort of half expected him to say something like, �Oh, your mother the psycho,� or something like that. You know? Instead he goes, �Plan on leaving tomorrow,� and walks to the bathroom.

Plan on leaving tomorrow. I don�t know what to think about it.