I get snapped at lately far too often, and for trivial reasons. Yesterday, I was yelled at because I cleaned the house. Yes. They want the house clean (particularly my dad; he lets us know the house is a horribly pigsty every chance he gets), and I have to do it because they work 13-hour days. That's very fair, indeed. The trouble comes in that they want the clean house, but they do not want the house clean. (Say what?)
They don't have time/ability to clean their own room. I understand...I don't want to clean my room, either. But when I clean the living room, it is required I take all of their valuables which can't be thrown away (and don't have a rightful home in the living room) and put them in their bedroom. I do the same with my things. But they...you know, let me stop using the word "they," and replace it with "my dad." My dad still seems to find fault because now the junk (sorry if this term offends anyone, I consider most of what I own junk as well, so shut your yap) is in their room instead of piled up in the living room. This happens to me, too. Let me say it again. This happens to me, too. It is common to all of us, and I am not picking on my parents unfairly.
My parents aren't pigs. They're good people. I wouldn't trade them for any other parents in the world. They're just really, really, extensively stressed out, and they don't know what to do with themselves. They also have horribly scarred childhoods (my dad's dad was a Satanist Christian...you know, like "[insert denomination here] Christian." I don't get it either, comrade.)
This puts me in a bad position; I'm damned if I do, and I'm damned if I don't. Me and my mom had a long, healthy (she said the term is "productive" or "rational," but I think healthy describes it better, as it denotes "productive" and "good") conversation about this. We came to the conclusion that we're both angry and upset about the same thing, and we need to have bean soup for dinner twice a week. Really, we have cans of beans piling up, and that's pretty much what the strife centers around. (We got in an argument about the pantry is overflowing with food we don't use and that should be donated. It's...part of the problem.)
My mom seems to understand that I can't do good except the good I can do. That complex sentence means that I can't do perfect, but I can do something. There's also another part; the plot thickens, as they say.
I am entering the stage of fetal development (uh, at my age, I guess it wouldn't be proper to call me a fetus) where I think I know everything. When talked to, I will realize I might be wrong; there are unseen implications in every action, is there not?
Regardless, this is a cause of endless strife between me and my dad. I am "contradictory"...for example, today, he was telling me about "chem trails." I asked him, "Well, why doesn't someone get a sample of the air up there?"
He said, "They have! It's aluminum oxide!" to which I replied, "Well then, why can't they figure out why they're doing it?" "Well, there's several theories...one says that it's to protect against an EMP blast." "OK, if that's the case, then why do they only blanket the entire sky with them once every 2-3 months?" "Uhh, I don't know, they also say it gives us cancer."
So I says, "Well, whatever...let the psychos figure it out, and once they figure it out, they can tell us." "Why do you call them psychos?!?"
"Because they're psychotic." I think he got up and left at that point, mumbling about "There you go again, being contradictory."
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that somebody who devotes their life to believing in everything or the possibility of everything, and studies endlessly with no clear conclusion is psychotic. It seems that they just spin. Worse, if the psychos can't figure it out, why should we care? That's my basic point. And also, I do not want to fill my head about an "update" to something that even the psychos can't figure out. Another piece of the jumbled puzzle, I say. If they figure it out, OK, let's hear it. If not, shut up and toil with your group of spinning toilers. There I go, venting.
Honestly, and here I hold myself accountable, the root of most of this is greed and pride (on all our parts, but for now I'll focus on me); I could be a girl, and be going through fits of hormonal horror, causing me to turn on everyone and scream and yell then cry. And just to think...then I'd have no hope of exiting the "stage," short of the rapture or death. So I should be grateful, but instead of this gratitude I should be experiencing, I'm being prideful and greedy (I deserve "better.") I am...unsure if that's inappropriate; I tend to talk badly about men often, so I'll talk badly about women now, OK? No one be offended, OK? OK. Thanks. I said OK three times in that sentence, and this one makes four, and the word tends to calm people down. Calm down. That's right, humble fools...put away the pitchforks.
Pastor's doing a "series" on families. Last week he talked on the subject of
[so, in ending, I need to make it clear to him that just as he does not want to hear about video games, I don't want to hear about the newest conspiracy theory he's heard of...basically, I don't wish to waste my time on things he wastes his time on. I prefer wasting time in my own ways, which tend not to iffect my world view, TYVM. God help me, I can't grasp the difference between affect and effect, so from now on I'll use iffect. Go Kev!]
