9:25 a.m. - 2006-07-14
I hate...
Yesterday was such a strange day. I was so off and on with my mood. First, I was annoyed because I didn't get called to work--I really need money. Then, my dad and I started talking about marriage and being in love and we got on the subject of sex and how him and my mom never have it--kind of an odd topic. But, I got so sad because I feel so badly for my mom and her weight problem. I've always felt this way because ever since I can remember my mom has be overweight, not outrageously but enough to jeopardize her health. She's always been over weight enough to have a low self-esteem, thus making her depressed. I would always want to go out shopping or something and she would never want to go because trying on clothes makes her realize how big she's actually gotten. My dad openly speaks about the fact that she's "Fat" and attributes that to their lack of sex. Although I understand his point, I wish that weren't the case. Her weight problem and resulting insecurities has changed their marriage. When your wife looks much different than she did when you first got hitched, it's understandable that feelings could change. Now, there is not doubt that my dad isn't the same tall, dark and handsom man that my mom married, but, then again, it's always easier for men to keep their shape, not necessarily there hair, but, at least, their shape. So, this discussion led me to sadness and frustration; sadness because I just feel so badly for my mom, and frustration because I've tried to encourage her to lose weight, but she doesn't have the motivation. The one good thing to come out of this: I refuse to let myself get overweight. I will always stay within the weight range according to my height--even after I have kids.
After that, things were cool. I went to the gym, came home and ended up talking about Cuban/American history with my dad. My dad is so knowledgable in the history department. It's always interesting and excited for me to see that side of him. I so often see his slightly annoying side; the one that asks me 3 million questions a day. After cleaning the house, I felt good, but then my brother came home. He had gone for a drive after work, which probably meant that he had a lot on his mind. After a while, my dad goes in to talk to him and I can hear that Darren is all choked up. I fucking hate this situation. Relationships are hard already, but this one takes the cake. It's such a strange situation. I feel so badly for my brother. His wife is, for lack of a better word, crazy (well, that's actually the perfect way to describe her, I was just trying to be nice). She needs to be bitch slapped and I wouldn't mind being the one to do it. Bella is, of course, getting the raw end of the deal. The poor thing has to live in between so much frustration and confusion, and with a unstable mother who is on and off anxiety pills and is in desperate need of therapy.
I went over to Frank and Melissa's thinking we were all going to go to the movies, because that's what was planned, but, of course, we didn't do shit. Which is fine, I've gone over there so many times and just hung out, but, for some reason, this time was different (Ignore the dramatic tone there, it was unintentional). When I get there, I was in a really good mood, then Melissa was being stand-offish and moody. I tried talking to her, but all she did was surf the web. So, I just ended up sitting around in a hot room and looking through victoria's secret magazines. Then, Melissa decided to change her mood, thus needing to be the center of attention. She repeatedly tried to drum roll and I thought I was going to go mad. So, there I was, sitting in a cramped, hot room with the incessant sound of a loud, uneven drum roll throbbing in my ears whishing I was at the movies, or at least out and about in an attempt to enjoy my post adolescence but pre-adulthood (kind of). I became really irritable. Then, I started thinking about my cousin. We got a call from my uncle earlier informing us that he probably won't make it to the weekend. He's deteriorated so much that he's just skin and bones. It was really sad to here because he's an awesome guy with two really sweet kids. I hate cancer. Anyways, thinking about that kind of got me down. Finally, I left their house and, as my luck would have it, there was bumper to bumper traffic on the freeway. Thus, what would've normally taken me 10 minutes to get home, took me 35 minutes. And, as the traffic built up, so did my fucking emotions; I cried while nudged between big rigs, raised trucks and streams of flashing break lights. Of course, listening to Damien Rice and Death Cab probably intensified my feelings. I'm such a sappy girl. Not getting a call from Sean made me even more sad, even though I understand why he didn't. He was trying to be sweet to me and give me kisses, but I just wasn't in that kind of a mood. I was when I got there, but then it left. Oh, the daily emotions of Sheryl Lynn. They'll take you up, down and all around, won't they?
