The fact that I'm up at 9.30am blogging is testament to how much I hate my parents being home. I'm on holidays, FFS. Why do they insist on functioning as an annoying alarm clock, waking me at all costs? The weather is overcast today- perfect for sleeping in until at least 12 noon. Then I could leave for a friend's house in the afternoon, and come home when it's late.
The very presence of my parents irritate me. I'm constantly suffering the dread of an argument--- no, they haven't done anything to me as of yet, but the anticipation is killing me. I know it's unavoidable. Sometimes I'd play along--- give in, even, to whatever they say. Then the next round they'll bring up yesterday's topic again, as if they'd forgotten that I'd already surrendered.
Sometimes I look at my parents like I don't even know them anymore. They'd be yelling, and I'd be sitting there lost, thinking, "who the fuck are these people, and why the fuck are they yelling at me?" I get so confused, but that seems to make it worse.
I miss how my parents were like 10 years ago. Mum was caring but not annoying, and Dad... wasn't an asshole. It's sad to admit that sometimes I'd rather be eight than eighteen.
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