Home Sweet Home!

My parents have finally gone on their 12 day cruise and left my brother and I to watch the house, and the dog, while they are away. For the next 12 days or so, the only yelling will be my brother and I fighting which is easily resolved by a closed door. I won't be talked at by a mother oblivious to my disinterest and I will be free to enjoy peace and quiet at nights, when my brother is in his room.

That's not to say it's going to be easy. They've left us money to live on but it's really not going to cover what we are going to need- it boils down to a few dollars a day each for all three meals. We'll have to handle household chores which is to say I'll have to handle them until I yell at my brother to do his fair share. My parents are terrified I'm going to stave the dog, which is impossible when the silly thing comes up and begs at you if he's hungry but I am worried my brother will ignore him and let him get into mischief the few days I have to be places when he doesn't.

Basically we're getting a trial run of what it means to live away from home. Last time this happened, the hot water heater blew up (no fault of ours). I'm not sure I'm ready for it. But I'll survive.

In other news, I'm one form away from completing my exchange. I just need to fill it out and locate my enrolment record and I'm sweet- with the deadline not until next Friday, I am very confident I will get this in. While I had to make a snap decision for my third choice university, I am beginning to warm to the idea of studying in Sweden and would not be disappointed if I ended up there. 

Even if it is freezing cold.

I'm Sick

Firstly, I am literally sick. My inconsiderate Dad gave me his cold after he refused to cover his mouth when coughing or sneezing. Somehow I am still getting no sympathy- Mum is all about not letting it get me down and fighting through it, which is stupid when all I want to do is stay in bed and not do anything; while Dad keeps trying to make me go do physical activities when I can't actually breath through my nose.

But I am also sick of my parents. I know they're awesome, they do things for me most other parents don't seem to and they never rarely complain but I am really getting tired of them. Dad is home all the time and while I know it's helping him, he can be a bit of an arse sometimes. He loves getting rises from people, never changes his very closed mind and is near impossible to beat in a debate. He's the sort of person who will make sure you don't buy biscuits in the weekly shop then complain that's there's nothing to have with his coffee. Dad will do anything for a friend but he expects so many things to be done for him- and sometimes I can't see the balance. I am his daughter, not his personal slave but occasionally I can't tell the difference.

And Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum. I love her but she's impossible sometimes. She's more open minded than Dad but only to a certain degree and with the idea that her ideas are always right. She's the type of person to watch a heavily dramatised 'reality' t.v show on an issue and think that makes her an expert on it with no one able to call her out on it. Mum's also got a hair trigger temper which does not help anything- I hate having to ask her things because I'm terrified of setting her temper off and I sometimes wonder if it's because it's me? Is that why she yells, because I fail? But then she yells at the computer and I feel better because it's not me. Plus she loves to talk at me about whatever she is watching- often shows I don't like- or things I am not interested in and I have to pretend to listen or risk her anger.

I know I'm being a bit petty but I have to deal with my parents every day. I'm not allowed to hide in my room like my brother did when he was on holidays because that's antisocial so I have to sit in the lounge room and be in the firing line. I know I should go out more, get away from them but I don't want to. I can't make myself go out...there's really only one or two people to go out with and I can't spend every day with them.

I need to go back to uni.

Before I go nuts.  

Forgetful Goldfish and Personal Admissions

An apt description of myself, one I often use. Basically, I need to remember that I do have this blog and it's able to be used instead of just tracking my friend's blogs with it. (Also idk if you read this but I use everyone as my pillow, it's not a sign I still like you. I don't, you're a much better friend than you were unknowing item of my weird crush)

I think that's the problem. I'm a private person really, as much as I like to share. I love telling people about things but not my thoughts. They're my thoughts, I'll keep them to myself thank you. 

Take for instance my last years of primary school/first years of high school. I cried myself to sleep every night, imagining ways I could kill myself (or dreaming of ways the universe would do it for me). I never told anyone, not until earlier this year when I admitted it to both my brother and my best friend, though my best friend got more details. I just did not know how to say it- how does one bring up in a conversation that they have issues planning for the future because, until recently, they didn't believe they would see 18? That for a while there they thought this early death would happen at their own hands? How could I admit that I thought myself too much of a coward to take what I was raised to believe was the coward's way out?

Well, I guess I'm admitting it now. I don't know how many people read this but it's a start. Semi-anonymous settings for the win. 

I'm not ashamed, I don't think. I still get upset when I remember the worse nights, when the only reason I didn't sneak downstairs to swallow every pill in my parents cupboard was imagining my parents' reaction to finding me dead. My fear of hurting them was stronger than my desire to just be dead. I cannot stress how much I just wanted to be dead- it didn't have to be at my own hand and in fact I honestly believed the universe was going to find a way to make me be dead by 18. 

I have no idea how I got out of this way of thinking. I guess one day I went to sleep knowing that I had not imagined my death for an entire week! That I had friends, actual friends, who cared for me and weren't going to tell me they didn't want to hang out with me (Something that has happened to me at least twice). Now when I imagined my death (which I did still do) I imagined their reactions to my death as well as my family's. One more reason to stay. I turned 18, my god I cannot stress how much turning 18 helped. Knowing I had made it, against imagined odds I'll admit but still against odds, was such a huge boost. I have things to live for, some of them silly but most of them not.

I've not imagined myself dying, planning out every detail of how it would happen and how my family would feel, in a very long time. It's a good feeling. Sure I still have gloomy thoughts but never do I go to sleep at night crying after imagining how the car trip tomorrow will kill me.

I think it's fitting I'm seeing 2013 out with this admission. It's something I've wanted to say for a long time but never had the words. I don't know if I've got the words now but it's a start. 

Don't judge me, I'm happy now. 

I Am Not an Idiot

I'm fairly sure about that too. I may not know a lot about all things, but I'm fairly intelligent and fully capable of making up my own mind-and knowing what I want in the first place. I can walk into a store and buy things, knowing that I am getting what I wanted and for a decent price.

Too bad the salesman at Harvey Norman the other day didn't seem to get this.

I needed a new laptop. My old one wasn't charging and there was one terrifying moment last week when I couldn't get the computer to register there was a power-cord connected. Not to mention it's as slow as a wet rag and about as useful as one a lot of the time. So I asked around, looked at prices in stores and decided I wanted one of two brands, with a very specific feature.

Then I went to Harvey Norman. I walked in and found a computer, of one of the brands I wanted (although the brand I least preferred of the two) but without the feature I wanted. A salesman walked up and offered his help. I instantly unloaded exactly what I wanted, brand and feature. Guy looked a little stunned but led me to one brand (still, the least preferred) while asking what I wanted the computer for.

Upon hearing I wanted it for Uni, he offered me a Mac.

For the last two minutes or so of our interaction I've been throwing PC brands at you. Why would you offer a Mac, when I've clearly stated I want one of two PC brands?

My opinion of this dude fell then, but I continued asking for the second brand. He showed me a laptop, in my price range that I liked. I asked what kind of a deal could be made on it, he asked what I needed. I asked if it came with Microsoft Office, then when it didn't I asked for that. He barely seemed to consider that before offering this "replacement policy" where for the next three years, the laptop could be replaced if it breaks. Great thing, but $330 for the laptop and well, I couldn't afford it.

He wouldn't drop it.

By this point I'm feeling horrible. The guy doesn't seem to be listening to me, he's made me feel confused and like an idiot who doesn't know anything. Looking back on it, I'm fairly sure a lot of it has to do with my sex combined with my age...

I walked out. Took my Mum and went to another store where we got a better laptop for less and I wasn't made to feel stupid.

I wonder how this would have gone if my brother and/or Dad had been with me?

Lazy

I don't know if the title of this post relates to myself or my father. I'm a lazy bitch, I'm well aware of it. I'm reluctant to do much without a load of motivation and I'm a procrastinator to boot.

But at least I make my own lunch.

Seriously, Dad never makes his own food. He doesn't make his own coffee, he never gets his own drinks. He always has his dinner brought out to him and I've never seen him wash a dish. My brother, mother and I do all those things for him.

Take today- I made soup for lunch and boiled the kettle. After I had sat down and started eating, I was asked to make a coffee for him (which Mum took advantage of and had me make her one too). Never mind the fact there was no water left and I had to reboil the kettle or the fact I was STILL eating. Well, this might be within his rights to request I guess...but not the next thing. An hour or so later he asked what was in the house for lunch. I suggested there was ham for sandwiches- that became a statement of my volunteering to make him sandwiches.

And if I didn't make them, Mum would have and I would be in trouble for being a lazy bitch and not following a simple request.

But it's not. It's something that happens everyday, without fail. Dad is of the opinion my brother and I exist to serve him otherwise why have kids and well, my brother hides in his room to avoid this. But if I hide in my room, I'm being anti-social and I'll be ranted at.

So for now, I guess I'll put up with this kind of shit and just rant about it to my friends.

I wonder if I'll ever feel like I exist to do more than serve people.

Compliments and Shirts

To begin, I love fandom shirts. I adore the variety they add to my wardrobe, the colours they usually come in and most of all the delight I get walking around with something I love on my shirt. It's a great feeling and I've shirts for almost everything I like- from Doctor Who to How to Train Your Dragon and even Discworld. Wearing them is a thing I do and I do it often.

I also get comments on them. Something to be expected, people like these things too, and well part of the joy in wearing these shirts is when people comment and we strike up a conversation. I've talked to some lovely people because of it.

But it's nearly always girls who comment. Nearly always, I can recall one time a guy complimented my shirt but it's an anomaly. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly care either way if it's a guy or girl commenting, I'm not wearing these shirts in search of a date or anything and someone commenting is always lovely regardless of sex. It's just...odd?

I really just want to figure out why it's like this. Is it because of the make up of my class is mostly female? But I've gotten comments from passerbys so it's not that. Is it because I only look open to compliments when women are nearby? But I've been reading books when I've gotten a comment, so it's not that either.

Do guys just not comment on this kind of thing?

 

One Way to Die...

I nearly drowned today.

Well, nearly nearly drowned. It was close. And all my fault really, I stuffed up and I suffered for it. But the thing was, the entire time I was being bashed around by waves my thoughts were...really kinda empty. None of this life flashing before your eyes or thinking about how to live etc. All I could think was 'Shit, there's ANOTHER wave?! *sigh*' and 'This is why people drown.'

It was only after, when I stopped to think on it, that I realised how close a call it was and how I could have been one of those people.

What happened? Well, today I was on a patrol away from my Dad so he instructed me I was to go for a swim. A guy agreed to go out with me and off we went. There was a strong undertow- a current pulling you sideways into a rip further down the beach- and big waves so it wasn't the best of conditions. But the pair of us got out beyond the waves, out the back where it was nice and calm. We came back in and the guy with me asked if I wanted to go out again. I said yes.

Bad decision. We waited in the breaking line for a big set to pass and I was barely able to stand up, the undertow was so strong. Then he said to go for it and we did. Three or so waves later he was halfway there and I hadn't moved.

Then I dived under a wave but not deep enough and I got smashed. I kept my head and swam to the surface, took a breath but then there was another wave. I went under it but I couldn't hold onto the sand and I got smashed around again. This time I didn't make it to the surface straight away but I still kept calm and waited until I could get up.

I barely got a breath this time before the third wave hit me. I let it- well, I say let but by now I knew this was a situation where I had no control and all I had to do was keep getting breaths- take me forwards until I could sorta stand and begin to make my way in. I got smashed a couple more times but nothing as bad as those first three, where I was dragged further under and could feel myself being tossed around.

That feeling is one I cannot accurately describe. It's horrific, it's terrifying and I can easy see why someone caught in it would panic. Of course, someone who panics, breathes in. And drowns.

I nearly panicked. And after my taste of it today, I'm extraordinarily sure that I do not ever want to drown. It is by far, the worse way I can imagine to die.

On a side note, there were also whales in the surf today. Very very cool.