*Warning: Lots of whinging, whining, insecure-ing, self-deprecating and moaning ahead.*
So today I marched into a class that I totally didn't want to attend, but did due to peer pressure and a nagging conscience, and got marks I didn't like at all.
Ok, so I kinda deserved it for unconsciously behaving inappropriately, and for sucking at interviews. And technically, the marks aren't that bad. But still. It's never easy to admit that you were just "not good enough". For your own expectations or your lecturer's.
And to 89 gal, sorry I was such a bitch about it. I mean, I'm happy for you, I really am. Just that I was trying to nurse my bruised ego. Don't take all that teasing to heart, eh.
With the way I've been behaving lately, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone decides that they hate me (or have they already decided?). I can't stand myself sometimes, either.
Anyway, back to the bad-marks thing. I can't believe I'm blogging about bad grades. I guess it's just that I make it a point to excel in every writing module because, after all, it's supposed to be my (self-declared) forte. And if one can't excel at her forte, one is really a big big failure in this cruel world.
Ok I know this world could be a lot more cruel to me, but let a girl whinge, ok?
And this semester I don't seem to be "doing my thing" and excelling at my writing modules at all. Guess it comes from being so uptight and snappy and pms-y or whatever. It's karma.
Ok. Time to move on to the next subject to whine about.
So I spend a whole day teasing 89 gal and generally being an ass and a facsimile of a sham of a friend, and come home feeling none the better.
When I call a miserable and weary "hello" to my mother, she greets me back with a "I'm so glad you're back!" type of exclamation.
And I naturally cheered up a little that someone is glad of my failure of an existence.
But before I could crack my maudlin face into a grin, she said:
I was afraid that Everett wouldn't be able to come home 'cos he doesn't have the key and we (my dad and her, of cos)'re going out.
Oh. Well.
I, a 19-year-old, am jealous of an 11-year-old. Isn't it laughable? I thought it was just a phase and now I've passed it and am finally starting to be a good sister, and now these old feelings seem to be edging back into my heart.
But allow me to justify my appalling behaviour. It's just that sometimes I feel that the only point of my existence, to my mum (who is arguably the most important person in my life), is to
a) carry the heavy things which, of course, Everett is not old enough to carry yet when Kenneth is not around (which, of course, he always isn't),
b) help Everett with his homework.
Yeah. I know it's just me and how can I even be thinking these thoughts. But I am, so stuff it.
So for the rest of the evening I float around, feeling deeply unloved and preoccupied in my own self-pity, and have a sad and hard-to-swallow dinner all by myself.
Yeah. I know. I need to grow up and start taking all these little things that are part and parcel of life in my stride. I'll start doing that.
First thing tomorrow.
I know. Who am I to say (wrongly, of course) that my parents don't love me enough? By saying that I am actually doing the same your-whole-point-of-existence-is-to-help-me-with-such-and-such thing to them. If I feel unloved, I can only imagine how they feel. They must feel that we treat them like ATMs and only are nice/talk to them when we need them. 'Cos heaven knows that we all have the same issues with showing our care and concern for each other.
What do you expect? It runs in the family.
So after a good couple of hours of sitting around indulging in self-pity, I decided to get some work done. So I switched on my computer and was greeted with the same error message that I'd got when I switched it on the day before: Non-system disk error.
Fuck.
It probably means that my laptop is on its last legs.
So I switched it off and on again, and my system time was reset again, and so I set it back to the correct time. Popped in a cd I'd borrowed from the library, found out that it's actually a better choice than I'd thought, and started reading the articles for my grp presentation tomorrow.
And then Everett (who of course was able to come back to an unlocked door thanks to my earlier return. omg I even come home earlier than my youngest brother!) told me that our parents want me to go down and help them carry the new tv upstairs.
While waiting for them to arrive at the car park, I thought to myself. Oh well. There's purpose 3 of my existence in life, how could I have forgotten, gasp gasp. To be my parents' third son. But what can I expect? I was a tomboy when I was young. I dug my own grave.
Anyway.
The tv was humongous.
My parents and I heaved and ho-ed it from the car, loaded it onto a trolley, and pushed it into the lift. Sounds like an easy job, but it wasn't. And please bear in mind that I did use to be quite strong for a girl (if I do say so myself) and be able to do lots of standard push-ups BUT I discovered recently that now I can only push and not come UP. Very saddening.
Amidst the grunting and wasting of energy and sweating, my dad commented that I am weak.
HELLO! I AM A FREAKIN' GIRL!!!
It was at the tip of my tongue to retort that it would be their fault if I couldn't give birth properly in future (touch wood) cos Grace says that girls' wombs can drop if they carry heavy things. Whatever that means.
But I just said I hadn't exercised for a long time.
The whole experience made me feel like I was guest-starring in a classic Mr. Bean episode. Because, of course, the reason why we have to haul the damn tv (which I only watch 1 hour of in a week) ourselves is 'cos they got it for a really good deal.
Yeah. While conveniently overlooking the fact that they are both in their fifties and can't possibly carry that heavy a load without help.
I really, really, wanted to express my opinions on the stupidity of their choice but I know I would only get a lecture on how I should be respectful of my elders and not question their decisions. And how they were saving all that money for us to squander away on our whims.
It really was a good deal, though.
So I held my tongue (but of course I couldn't resist the occasional "are you sure this is worth it?!" comment) and finally got the damn bugger upstairs.
Everett watched on while my dad and I heaved and ho-ed the thing onto its stand. And made comments like "wah, it's not bad. quite nice." Is it just me or is it totally inappropriate to make such comments in front of people who are sweating it out and you are obviously not lifting a finger to help (even though, of course, he can't cos he is soooo young.)?
Yeah. Ok. It's just me.
I told him to go away and shut up and he said "What? I'm saying the tv is nice, not you."
Someone tell me how to teach that boy when to just shut up and not anger people further.
Then it was time to haul the OLD tv back downstairs. After we'd loaded it into a trolley, I was all eager to push it into the lift and get rid of it downstairs but my mum stopped me and said leave it, thank you, dun need your help already. I said "What? You wanna haul that thing downstairs on your own and run the risk of breaking your back?"
She said Daddy's gonna do it.
I shouted "So Daddy's not capable of breaking his back?"
And she got angry and said just leave it we'll throw it later when we're sure that the new tv works.
Fine. The rare time when I am displaying my affection in a roundabout way, and all I get is a mini-scolding.
And now they are all outside watching the new tv while I'm in here typing this.
Oh well. Better get back to reading those articles. Sorry I bored you.
Misery-guts, over and out.
