Because today's events took some twists and turns and I'm still psychologically jarred.
My parents are workaholics.
They work five days a week.
And they really always have.
And we haven't always been in such a good place.
It's been a struggle.
And now it's a struggle again.
Apparently, we need to financially "make ends meet".
I hate that phrase.
And I blame myself for its use.
My father has taken it upon himself to get a second job, part-time.
He says it isn't bad.
That I shouldn't be upset.
But I am.
I certainly am upset.
It's a sort of smack in the face, I'd suppose.
My parents, who already work too hard, are working harder.
I feel guilty.
They bought me car, and pay for insurance, and driver's ed.
I pointed out that these were all frivolities I could do without.
They said it wasn't so.
I feel guilty.
And finance is not my forte, no,
But it seems as though the economic downturn finally caught up to us.
But it also seems like we aren't really frugalizing as we should be.
I try my best to make changes.
I say we cut cable tv.
We hardly watch anything, anyway.
Just the news.
We ditched the landline phone a while ago.
It was a small step.
And then I point out how all I do is schoolwork.
And they, being the most endearing parents one could hope for, say "School is your top priority now! We'll help you through the first four years of college, just focus on your studies."
And while it's meant to be nice.
It's like a guilt-trip.
I hate feeling guilty,
But I'm laden with the stuff right now.
And so I recomposed myself
And we were in the car,
And I popped the INXS mix tape into the tape deck
And my dad goes "I still remember all the words to these songs!"
And he sang.
My dad never, ever sings.
And something about that itself was quite heart-wrenching,
I can't explain why.
But it certainly was.
I just wanted to cry.
Because he never, ever sings.
And the day's been all over the place, besides those things.
(Jarring within themselves)
I am fighting with the muse and it is winning,
And it's an arduous thing, poetry,
You can try with all your might, and yet it all eludes you.
It's just gossamer threads,
They glint in the light and you chase them,
But you can never get them,
They're too fine, too easily hidden.
I'm wresting with the words.
They will not make peace with me.
At least not right now.
I am distressed.
But I suppose things are not all as bad as they seem.
...
Of course, I mean, in my little sphere of existence.
Of course, things aren't really that bad at all.
I just make them sound so.
It's the homework and the guilt and the lack of words.
It's driving me insane.
"There won't be any insanity."
Sure, there won't be.
So really,
I'm here to complain and vent to you all, whoever will listen,
And I suppose I should go now.
Nothing much else to say.
I think I'm just going to watch this Dali film, "Un Chien Andalou"
It looks very strange, for he was a strange man.
And I'll try to make friends with the muse,
And I'll try to untangle myself from guilt.
I knew this weekend would bomb.
Adieu and goodnight,
Sleep tight.
I love you.
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