actuality.log


Monday, June the 18th, 2007

I know I don’t have a right to, and it’s not technically their fault, but I’ve begun to get more and more irritated by my parents of late. I’m not certain where this is stemming from exactly, but I’m sure it has something to do with how dismissive I feel they sound when I describe to them the (admittedly meagre) going-ons in my life.

“You know that’s great and all, but it would be cool if you were married.”

Like every other person on the planet, I believe I am fundamentally different from my parents, and that consequently, they can’t understand what my life entails. It’s more annoying still that this being the case, they have the gall to keep calling me and asking me about what “I’ve been doing with my life.” You know what? Not very much that matters to you. I’m doing the best I fucking can.

It’s not like I can go to them for help in any case, because honestly, for anything that counts, they’re entirely useless to me. My parents have been “normal” for me throughout my life. They haven’t thwarted anything in any major way, but nor have they been tremendously helpful by opening up doors for me. Who I’ve become today seems to be entirely independent of what they’ve provided for me, or what they’ve denied.

Like I was saying, it’s not really their fault. There is only so much they’re capable of, and it’s wrong of me to expect anything more. I just wish they realised it’s not very different from their end, and they ought to stop expecting more from their dorky son.

If you want more out of my life, you ought to do something constructive for me. What? You can’t? You’re not able to? Then please shut up.

At least so I don’t have to fear you to the point that I avoid your calls.

This is a printer-friendly version of the journal entry “Avoiding calls” from actuality.log. Visit http://emphaticallystatic.org/earlier/avoiding-calls/ to read the original entry and follow any responses to it.

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