1/29/2017

Woke up at 8 something. Went to have breakfast. I put some rum in my coffee and it was alright. Watched TV. Mum kept coming in and out of the living room, always making noise, always talking loudly about things that she knows I’m not interested in, that she knows she isn’t interested in and that she knows people she’s talking about aren’t interested in. I told her that she was annoying me, but she just wouldn’t stop asking questions and making irrelevant statements. I was so pissed off. Really. “Can you make lunch while I’m at church with your sister? Also make sure the oil is hot before you begin to fry the chicken. And if Grandpa calls, tell him to bring some wine. Also, maybe put some potatoes in the oven. And lay the table.” Those were her words. She would get out and come in again after every sentence. It drove me mad. She talks so much. When I try to talk to her, she doesn’t listen, and I don’t mean listen as in understand, I mean it as in hear. She, sort of, shuts off. You have to repeat the question a few times in order for her to actually respond with something like “Oh!” or “Yeah, great, great, great…” That makes my blood boil.
This entry is already too long and no one is going to read it but I’ll keep writing.
Took a shower, went to do a makeup look which turned out disastrous. I was mad! I almost cried. I had completely fucked up my eyeliner. It was all a mess. Got dressed and gave the look a few more attempts.
Made lunch while texting Brandon. Read that book for English class. During lunch, Grandpa broke a glass. The wine splashed on one of our chairs and the glass shattered all over the floor. He slapped his forehead, frowning. I had never seen him do that before. He looked so sorry. It was depressing. At lunch we mostly talked about politics, my future, money, translating and interpreting, and Donald Trump.
Went back to reading at around 2. Finished at 5. The book killed me. It drained all the energy out of me.

I want to write a book. Or something at least. Something funny. I just feel the need to write, but what?

 

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