2003-08-18, 10:54 p.m.
Well, I am back.
My flights went well, and I was picked up by the parents and taken out to dinner, followed by outlet shopping. Very pleasant.
I'd thought that if I went home for only 48 hours, this might defuse the dreaded Third Day, when after they've gotten used to me being home, they break out all the things I do wrong and rag on me all day.
Uh, nope, didn't work at all. I spent Sunday with a headache, feeling miserable, while Mom alternately demanded that SOMETHING be done with my hair (lord, has she ever once seen my head without thinking that I look awful? And here I thought chopping it all off would finally make her happy!) or ragged on me for hours about everything I suck at. She indicated that Dave must be a saint for putting up with me, and ragged on me for taking him for granted. On the one hand, it's great that she seems to be feeling more of the Dave-like, on the other hand it makes me feel rather crappy. Yes, I know I suck already! Your yelling at me doesn't ever improve my behavior to your satisfaction, does it? She claims I don't try, I say I'm tired of trying and failing her already.
And much like Hill, in my mother's presence, I could suddenly do nothing right. I dropped things, grabbed the wrong things, misunderstood what "front" part of the chair she wanted grabbed, went out to the trash because I didn't hear her say "Wait for me!", etc., etc., etc. I finally asked if I'd done ANYTHING right today and she said Yes. "What?" (biiiiiiiig long pause) "Said good morning."
I think it's not my being home three days that does it, I think it's SUNDAYS. There's something about Sunday that makes her wake up with a raging need to gripe at me throughout the entire day and night. Either that or it's punishment for leaving her again, I don't know.
Adding to the fun, I made a major ass of myself in public. We were unfortunately eating in a fast food restaurant, and I'd gotten a root beer float. Dad kept pointing at it and saying "One (mumblemumblemumble)." The best I could guess at was "bed?" I couldn't understand him no matter how many times he repeated it, and it must have been 12-15 times he tried, eventually just plain screaming it unintellegibly at me so that the entire restaurant stared. Turned out he meant "one bite," as in "give me some of that float."
And even stupider, I went into the wrong gendered restroom without noticing. (Not just walking in and out after noticing my error, mind you. No, the urinal next to the sink did not clue me in either until I left.) Course, the entire restaurant noticed once Mom and Dad started shrieking and cackling at their idiot child who can't read.
Oh, the joys of being home again, eh?
At least Dave came up here at the end of the night. Even if I've been a pain to him about rearranging the apartment and cleaning out the closets since he's been here. My bad mood seems to be lingering anyway.
I'm feeling especially sensitive on the "stupid" issue after both vacation and the parents really rubbing it in.
Dave gave me a loooong talking-to about how I should't be calling myself stupid when I screw up things that I don't know how to do, even if others think I should already know how to do them without a hitch. That common sense really is "stuff you've already done before and know how to do" instead of magical inbred instincts that everyone in the world but me has.
In other news, I called on jury duty, and got told that it got pushed back to Wednesday and I'd have to call again tomorrow. This should be interesting if I have to go in, since both my boss and my other coworker in my area are going to be on vacation from Wednesday on. Who do I let know that I'm gone? Er, should that happen, anyway. Being in the postponed group (#3 on the recording) makes me nervous. I'd really rather not have to worry about taking three different busses to the damn courthouse. Rather a shame, since other than that I'd love to be on a jury if it wasn't a job issue for me.
Oh yeah, and they're turning off power to the entire campus from 5-9 a.m. on Wednesday. They were going to let us not come in until 9 a.m., but then someone evidently claimed that "oh, it should be on by seven", so we're all being forced to come in to work at the usual time and then presumably just stand around bored for an hour of wasted time if/when it isn't turned on in a timely manner (note: further memos this afternoon indicated NOT BEFORE NINE). There is nothing we can do without power in the building. Sheeesh.
Adding to the fun, I found out oh, today, that the management is going to rip open my ceiling tomorrow. At least they won't be doing it until after I leave for work, but suffice it to say that Dave will definitely not get to sleep in or mess around with the rest of the apartment. Supposedly they're going to fix the ceiling Wednesday, but I am cynical and don't think I can count on that being 100% fixed by then either. I'm rather creeped out at having a frigging hole there, especially since the upstairs neighbors have a bouncy small child.
In short, I go back to my regular life and shit happens. This is getting old.