I am trapped.
Trapped between my parents.
Trapped between society's idea of a good life and a bad life.
Trapped between what could be the love of my life, and what could be just another girl.
Let's start with my father since that's been what my past few daylogs have been about.
We went to the windy city last weekend. He was there to meet his girlfriend's Mom, I was along for the ride because I happen to like cities. We're out to dinner one night at this quasi-nice French bistro (which my Dad's girlfriend's Mom, Avette, happens to own) when Avette starts to pull out ring diagrams and talking about "the reception". You have to picture, I'm absently chewing my cassoulet Toulousain, fork half in my mouth when I hear that they are in fact getting married. Soon. Later I will find out that my Dad still has not talked to my brother about any of this and he's even more in the dark than I am.
Speaking of which, he's not raising my brother properly. My brother told me he never see's Dad. He says he can't talk to him about anything, and my brother's a fairly level headed guy for a 17 year-old. Sometimes, if I'm in the right mood, I get the feeling that if life had a do-over, he would never have gotten married and had kids. He seems to only care that my brother and I are doing well in school, and that we have enough money for necessities. I have a sister he doesn't speak to. Does he care about us? Does he lay awake at night and wonder if his kids are happy like I do about him? He seems to be a very complex man with folds in his personality. You could lift one up and discover he's not the man you've always known him to be.
I was supposed to go over to my Mom's house last night so she could take me out for my birthday and I could do some laundry. My dog, Ben, always enjoys her two dogs as well. I brought up some problems I was having with my girlfriend: the fact that I can't get a good discussion or opinion out of her despite her being fairly intelligent. She gave me some cursory advice and then started to talk about the divorce. She brings this up whenever she feels she can fit it in. Normally I skirt away from such discussions, but I figured if she's listening to my problems, I can listen to hers; really I was letting her vent. One thing led to another and pretty soon she was telling me it was my own fault she threw me in a holding cell one night when I was 17.
I really must do a writeup on that, but long story short: she was blocking me from plugging a computer into the wall (after having unplugged it while I was working on a paper), so I turned sideways and nustled by her to plug it back in. Later, when the police were trying to explain to her that they couldn't arrest my 11 year-old brother for squirting water in the house, she tells them I pushed her. On go the cuffs, out go me.
It should be noted that even my sister, who was yelling at me at the time, says I didn't push her. This is only relevant because last night my Mom says, "...oh we're going to get into that! You pushed me!". Anyone who knows me for any amount of time knows that I am a passive person and would never push anyone simply because we're arguing. I stormed out of the house. Having my own mother throw me in jail is a wound I doubt will ever heal. Now I don't know if I'll ever speak to her again.
So you see I feel like I can't trust either one of my parents. One doesn't care what is happening, and one sees me as some sort of criminal over something that didn't even happen 6 years ago. Yet here I am in my nice apartment typing on one of my 3 computers. Do I have a right to complain? Am I living the good life, or do I have it hard? I actually feel guilty for feeling bad since I have it so good.
Hahaha welcome to my FUCKED UP life.