The Diary of Queen Mothy |
The Tables Have Turned written @ 9:35 PM on January 24, 2003 Mom says she found evidence that Dad is trying to open a bar behind her back, but has not confronted him about it. This could be really bad. The reason why he didn't open his own business in the first place was because of a shaky financial future. What is the point in opening a family-supported business when you're not even sure the family is going to be staying together? I told her that if she's going to confront him about it, do it tactfully. Meaning don't flat-out accuse him, because the evidence that she's found may not be what she thinks it is. "Things aren't too good around here, Samantha," has become the familiar quote of the hour, every hour, everyday. I hate the pressure that is coming from home when I have all this crap to deal with at school. God, how I hate it. I feel like I'm fighting a two-front war. Christine says I should begin to look out for myself only at this point, but I'm not sure that's the best course of action, and only because I don't know what my father is thinking. To win a war, you have to know what both your allies and your enemies are thinking. This chess game, as I like to think of it, is all about tact and waiting at this point. I sit in judgment while my mother is ready to make her next move. The question is how my father will answer that move. I partly fear on both their behalves. Most of all I fear for my brother. He still has two years of high school left-- two years that could become the most miserable years of his life. It doesn't concern me that he'll get caught in the crossfire between our parents-- we're both already trapped-- but I know more than he does. My mother tells me that things aren't good, she tells me that she has the nerve to leave my dad, she tells me to prepare in case she moves out with my brother, she tells me how she can't take it anymore, she tells me, she tells me, she tells me-- but she doesn't tell my brother. That is the difference. "Do not tell your brother what I'm telling you, Sam, I don't think he would understand." For that I have a hard time forgiving her. I'll tell you why. The first time my parents told us there was a problem between them struck my brother and I like a ton of bricks coming out of no where. We had a hard time comprehending how this had come to pass, and it left us feeling confused, overwhelmed, and deeply saddened because we had not been forewarned in any way. My brother, for one, has always been left in the dark. After my grandmother had died back in '96, it took him a long time for him to come to grips with it and actually *understand* that she had died. I remember my mom crying in the next room with him saying over and over, "He didn't understand, he didn't understand..." Then when my parents' relationship blew up, it struck him deeply again. Now, like before, my mom is purposefully witholding information. And when the breakdown point occurs, God knows how Jonathan will react again. If history ever taught anyone a lesson, I have no doubt Jonathan may reach another one of those desperate points. They broke his heart once before. If the worst occurs, I can take it. I am a fucking granite rock through and through, but I don't know about him. I'm a little worried about him. I wonder if he senses that things aren't well in the house. I wonder what his take on the sitiation is. I wonder if he's sort of ignoring it in the way that my dad is ignoring it. I wonder if he's really that serious about going into the Army. And on the topic of my dad, I'm almost ready to proclaim that it's hopeless. Almost, but not yet. After work last weekend, I stopped at home and was shocked at how old he seemed. I mean really old and feeble. So much of him reminds me of my grandfather, who died a mere two years after my grandmother. If my mom leaves him, I wonder if it could only be dreadful foreshadowing as to what will happen to him. I hate to say it but I no longer ignore my intuition: I believe that if she does leave him, there will be very little time left for him. Another bit of irony that struck me recently: last year my dad and I squared off against each other because I "never talked to him," I "don't contribute anything to the family," and I'm "just plain hateful and selfish." My, my, how the tables have turned little less than a year later, I now muse. I am so ready for disaster that I'm going to take it by the horns and not let it phase me in the least. If need be, I can shield my brother from the debris following the explosion, but for the most part I am on my own. I am ready to cut ties if I have to, fight if I must, or, at the very least, move out with my unicorns. I am not bitter or angry, only resolved. I am not about to be dragged down in this-- I have too much going for me now to be caught up in something I want no part in. Maybe telling my mom that I want no part in it is the key. The problem is that she needs someone to talk to. Relatives can only do so much; sometimes it's only the daughter who needs to hear it, the one other who understands somewhat what she's going through because she's lived through it herself. But then again perhaps I'm being foolish with false sentimental ideas. Maybe I should say fuck it, I'm on my own. Maybe I should ride out the storm. To tell you the truth, I never even wanted to devote so much diary space to this issue, but as my friends in college don't know me well enough to even remotely understand the point of view I'm coming from-- hell, they don't even know that there is a star in the constellation Sculptor with my name on it-- I can't approach them with my problems. I don't like talking about my problems. People come to me with their problems, and somehow I can't have that luxury of approaching them. Why? Because I'm Sam Reno, the fucking granite rock. Call it pride, call it bad luck, call it whatever you want, the point is I have no other outlet for my rants, raves, and unfortunate prose ramblings than right here. Bitter about that? Somewhat. I rather enjoy the solitude that I live in here, but it kind of makes me sad that I may very well never have friends in college to whom I was as close to as those in high school. Brian and I get along well enough, but we have two different sets of ideals. Trisha talks about herself too much for me to get a word in otherwise; dammit, sometimes I wish that girl would just shut up and listen for a second. So that leaves the old high school friends to chat with online, with whom I refuse to complain to if I can help it, and my mother... Yes, my mother... LOL You know, the sooner the fifth Harry Potter book comes out, the better off I'll be. June 21, hurry up!
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