Ohfuck.
Now my parents ruin it all. Yay.
Oh my God, Dad…
…I’m going to make you flashcards so you STOP asking if my dissertation is on horses and whether I decided to turn in poems for assessment. It’s kind of driving me even more mental, but I guess it shows why you don’t remember anything important I ever tell you - because you never remember ANYTHING I tell you.
When you foolishly…
…expect your parents to be reasonable for once in 21 years.
My dad keeps saying…
…that I’ll now have to wear a wedding dress that covers my back, and socks, to hide my tattoos and look any good when I get married.
If he keeps saying that, he might well not get invited. :)
“Oh God she looks like such a lesbian”
Last time one of my friends said this, I called them on it. They didn’t know I’m bisexual, so I asked whether I looked it. They said no, then couldn’t believe me when I said that I am and proceeded to tell them how ridiculous they were being. It always surprises me most when it’s my friends on my English Lit. course at uni. We spend so much time reading and writing about gender, sexuality etc. and analysing responses to it, that I just (wrongly, apparently) assume that they’ll be understanding about people’s choices. They’re a bit better about it now, but still can’t seem to understand why I don’t have “bisexual” tattooed on my forehead, and why I have a long-term boyfriend if I’m female and like girls.
Now, I called my friends on this, because it’s safe. But I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve not called my parents on it. That I’ve just sat there seething every time they complain “Oh she never shuts up about being a lesbian”, point out “You do know he’s gay”, or claim that bisexuals are “greedy” and/or “delusional”. Because I’m scared. I’m lying to them, and they don’t even know. Considering their responses to everything else important to me - literature, poetry, women’s rights, trich awareness….and considering how much more risky talking about my sexuality feels, I guess this is just something I’ll have to hide a while longer.
I want to rant.
But my mum is sat next to me and she might be horrified/ask questions.
Sitting upstairs…
…because no one can be bothered to say hello to me. I go downstairs to get food. And I’m in trouble for having stayed upstairs. I like how my parents forget my depression until they force an almighty row about it. So I get in trouble, rather than them checking I’m okay when I quietly say not to worry. Obviously it’s my fault for not telling them everything even though they act this way.
When your parents…
…annoy you immensely but you can’t decide if to cause a (JUSTIFIED) argument or just nod while seething inside.
Parents arguing.
Great end to the day. My brother got so angry he walked out of the house. I just spilled water all over my extension cable and then gave myself an electric shock on it.
Also…
…please stop saying “that must be a wig” about people’s hair. You know that people say that about my hair and that I hate it. You know I have particular reasons for hating that. So again. Shut up.
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