Let's Gossip

I start off my morning by picking up “Richard” every morning. I wake up at 6 and get ready in 30 minutes so that we can get to school right as the doors unlock. This morning I realized that I complain a lot in the mornings. Oh sure it’s early and I want to sleep in, but I’m not complaining about that. 

I complain about where I have to brush my teeth in the morning that isn’t the bathroom. I complain about something someone said yesterday that was hurtful. I complain about something I’m pretty sure I complained about yesterday. UGH. who needs all that negativity in their life. That’s just living miserably. And if the whole reason I made this blog was to gossip, vent, and complain then why am I doing that outside of the internet? I confuse myself sometimes. 

That’s right. She called my letter “a pitiful excuse for a letter.” 

I wrote my mom a letter explaining why I want her to stop smoking. My mom and I have always communicated better through writing out what we want to say, so I put that to use. 

I started by telling her to read this it while she was calm and to not get mad, but to listen and give me a chance to say what I wanted to say. I talked about all the ways it effects me and that I couldn’t get a job even if I wanted to because of how I smell like an ash tray. I talked about my clothes yellowing, we food tasting like ash, and how I get sick every morning from the stench of her 5-6 morning smokes. I didn’t just talk about me though. I told her it wasn’t all about me and how I cared for her health. I want her around for a long time and smoking as much as she does everyday is going to kill her sooner. I made the case that she is all I have (selfish aren’t I?) and that her and her husband won’t have a long loving life together if both of them smoke and prematurely pass. I begged her to really quit for me, herself, and her spouse. Even for her grandchildren. current and my future children. 

Is that too much to ask?

I guess so. I slipped her the letter and went to the bathroom, afraid of confrontation because I knew she would be pissed. She read the first paragraph before the content of the letter got down to my begging, and then exclaimed the poor excuse of a letter bit. It hurt a lot. Like a lot. I cried while writing that letter. I poured myself in that letter. And she just ignore all of it. I snatched the letter from her bed like the drama queen that I am and crumpled it up, yelling that she was awful for not even reading it all the way. That’s the least she could have done. Her husband Scott was getting piss-face drunk and didn’t know why we were yelling. She told him she didn’t know either since I crumpled the letter up. I opened my door and threw the paper at her. “Fine. Read it. Because you didn’t even give it a chance the first time. That really hurt. It means a lot to me. Fuck you.” 

And that was the last that I tuned in to the sounds of the house for the night. I pulled the covers over my head, ignored what homework I had, what chicken I had to bake before bed, and went to sleep. I ignored the messages from my sister wanting to know if I was ok as I had let her in on my plans to confront our mom. I woke up some hours later to marinate my chicken and say I got at least something done. My mom was sleeping on the couch. Apparently her husband’s drinking caused a fight and she chose the couch. I know my issue that I raised will be put on the back burner since she will be so wrapped up in her husband and their impending (maybe) divorce that they were yelling about this morning. 

No not sparkling. Just regular. I’m not feeling sparkling tonight.

We’ll name my friend Richard. Let’s see if I remember what I call him in my future posts. He’s a students just like me but he plays one of those instruments that you blow air through. Lame.

I’ve found myself hanging out with him a lot more since the beginning of this year. We had smoked together a bit before this year but hadn’t really hit it off. I use to think his comments and thoughts were abrasive and mean and that I shouldn’t affiliate myself with someone like that. In all truth he was just being honest. Just like I’m afraid to be sometimes. He’s going through a lot, just like me but in different ways, and I find that he’s really cool to be around. I think I see him for who he really is, not someone who seems like they are really mean all the time and talk shit about people. That’s not who he is. He has some self esteem issues going on, and I think talking the way he does is how he has grown to handle it. It isn’t shady and mean, but insightful because the stuff he says is what others tend to ignore about people, which is their flaws. He’s just calling it as he sees it.

I’m pretty sure he drives people away from talking to me sometimes. I’m pretty sure people talk shit about us too. I’m pretty sure people think I can be mean too. I don’t care. He’s my pal, and we see eye to eye. That’s what friends are for anyways; since that’s what gossiping with each other means.

and I’m a music edu major at BSU. Not Ball State but Boise State. I don’t know why I had to clarify, but I felt like I needed to.

I’ve tried to write this 3 times now. More like tried to figure out why I’m starting this. It started with a friend having a blog and I thought it looked cool. Then it changed to finding motivation to lose weight. That didn’t start until recently when I actually started trying and made some changes to my life style. Now it’s something else to me. This blog may just change as I write it too.

I’m unhappy with myself. That’s vague I know. This post will be about how unhappy I am with what I say around people. I’m a people pleaser. I want to put people’s needs before my own even if that means hurting myself. I don’t get home until 11 every night because I want to hang out with friend who really doesn’t want to be alone. I wake up early for that same friend because we stick together while we practice early in the morning before even teachers are there. I give up my seat in the crowded lobby and claim that I like the floor better but in reality my back hurts because I didn’t sleep well and I’m physically exhausted. I’ll hold elevators when I’m late, put off my homework to helps others, give my lunch away, write letters to those who are having a hard time and need some words or support, and I’ll listen to them as long as they need someone to cry to. I do more for people than I do for myself. 

That’s another topic for another day, but in short I hate saying thins that people don’t like. That doesn’t mean I don’t have an opinion, but rather I think people are sick of what I have to say. I’ve become more self-conscious with the more weight I’ve gained, and now with the more I share what I feel. I think, and I really mean THINK, I’m creating this blog as a way to share what I have to say without broadcasting it to the entire 3rd floor lounge. I’m not sure who will read it or follow along, but if you do, thanks. 

Thanks for taking some time to listen to me, or hold the elevator, or wake up early to practice. Thanks for writing me that note and sharing your seat. It means a lot.