rm | (no subject)

Greetings from my parents house.

Some of this is annoying simply because it is annoying. Some of it is annoying because my father can be a real difficult case. But a lot of this is annoying simply because I have isses.

My mother thought he'd be able to make his own lunch, and, I think, he could have, but he asked me to do it (only after did he ask if it was okay for me to touch bread, which isn't really not -- I had to keep washing my hands every two seconds).

Making a sandwich for my father -- well, it's ridiculous. The ingredients have to go on in the right order (I put mayo on the turkey instead of on the bread and that was wrong and so forth). Anyway, that's not the point. The point is I was furious, feeling like I'd only gotten stuck doing this because I'm the girl, which makes no sense as I'm the only child. There's no brother leaving such tasks to the womenfolk. Just me. But it enraged me, the woman's work of it. This is not a good sign for my continued mental health in all this.

Nor, is my mother calling on her lunch break panicking because I didn't pick up the phone until the machine caught it first and I could hear who it was -- my parents always screen calls, ever since a kid I my class when I was 12 or 13 called to tell my parents I was a cocksucking whore (if only my life had been so interesting). I follow the rules of their fear-based existence and they panic, but taking charge of this thing is the last thing I want to do -- not today, not yet.

The Euro is dropping. My father says maybe he and my mother can get to Paris one more time. I talk to everyone about death; I sit beside it. But I don't know how to do that, mainly because my father isn'y dying, at least on no more accelerated a schedule than any of the rest of us. He's just recovering. This isn't false optimism, this is merely, I will not consign someone to be dying for years, simply due to their worldview and age.

I'm just too ornery for this, to sit here and listen to my father suggest I write non-fiction over fiction because it's better, morrally, to suggest I don't take up flying again because it will worry my mother, and to tell me over and over than I'm a good girl. Also, he keeps asking me why I don't have my own TV show yet, and god, where do you start with that?