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...I can't.
Sep. 23rd, 2005 06:17 amScrew this. I picked up a pen and uncapped it and attempted to fill out the damn Timesheet for Thursday. And I looked at it, sitting there, and I couldn't. I chucked the pen somewhere across the room and very nearly tore it apart again.
I think I'm angry because I know I don't practice a full hour of piano every day and I don't do the full 80 minutes that I need for cello. And I know it and he knows it and I know he knows it, and he's just making me write it down so he can have written proof against me.
The thing is, who does? Tell me, if you had three instruments, would you practice each of them fully every day? I think I already practice more than a number of people.
It's just... making my instrument teachers happy isn't enough for him. He has to hear me practice fully. ALL OF IT. Which is so ridiculous I want to cry because no one does that. No one. I have an excellent lesson, he might be happier, but no, if he doesn't hear me practice one day, I'm in trouble. Screw the excellent lesson.
He wants an excuse to throw me off the computer. If it's written on paper, he can do it. He can be like "You haven't practiced enough at all. Get off. You're grounded." And I can argue that my lessons are good and it won't do a thing with him because he's just twisted like that.
I hate him. I can guess what he thinks. Because he just has to be a fucking handicap, staying home all day with nothing to do except downloading illegal stuff from the internet and upgrading computers and watching TV and swimming. And doing who-knows-what. And now I'm the only one home. And all of his attention is focused on me. And he just has to monitor every single thing I do because he's a damn control freak.
PARANOID PARANOID PARANOID PARANOID
Ah, fuck. I don't want to be crying when I'm at school. At least it's only 6:30.
I'm filled with resentment and I just can't let it out anywhereanywhereaaanywhere because no matter what I do the stupid timesheet still sits there. And when I see it my heart flies into a rage and I'm absolutely furious with him. But there's nothing I can do to let out my fury. I can rant and rant and rant and chuck things around my room (not smart) and even throw a tantrum if I wanted to but it won't help at the the end it'll still be there. And there's no escaping him. Why can't he let me operate my life the way I want to? I swear, the computer WON'T KILL ME.
(It's like I have so much anger bottled up and ready to explode except I can't let it explode and I can only hold it back to small explosions that accidentally slip out here and there but I can never never never never allow it to really explode because then I'll go full-out rebellion and he'll just take the computer away and it'll be stupid stupid stupid and my reasonable brain tells me this and I won't let it happen but IT JUST MAKES ME MAD AS HELL AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT)
Edit: The best course of action, I guess, would be to actually practice them all every day as long as I'm supposed to. And use the computer less. When dealing with my parents I can't do anything except swallow my pride - at least I'm capable of that, when the need arises, else my computer would be long gone by now. Of course, that doesn't make me any less furious or any less rebellious... What I do and what I think are now completely separate.
>< I should just go to school. School will be a welcome relief, after all these disasterous events at home.
Edit: Yay. I'm happier now. School def. helped. Amy's home hobbling around with a cane on a twisted ankle because she fell down the stairs (there weren't any crutches her size). Rofl if it weren't for her hair you could easily say she was an old woman, looking at her from the back.
Didn't do any of my hw last night, so finished them during orchestra, tutorial, and drived. Made me feel somewhat more productive.
Also glad that I no longer wish to rip the damn timesheet in half every time I look at it. Very very glad that the white-hot raging sensation of pure fury has boiled down. 'Twas scary. I've never felt so unearthly angry before, save the time when Adam slapped me across the face when I was little and talked his way out of it with rounded lies and actually made it into my fault.
Wheee~ Now I just feel... resigned. But I'm glad that I'll be able to fill out the timesheet without destroying any pens or ripping it up or damaging any of my other personal possessions. (-looks pointedly at Eliza- Your advice always seems somewhat... ......)
I think I'm angry because I know I don't practice a full hour of piano every day and I don't do the full 80 minutes that I need for cello. And I know it and he knows it and I know he knows it, and he's just making me write it down so he can have written proof against me.
The thing is, who does? Tell me, if you had three instruments, would you practice each of them fully every day? I think I already practice more than a number of people.
It's just... making my instrument teachers happy isn't enough for him. He has to hear me practice fully. ALL OF IT. Which is so ridiculous I want to cry because no one does that. No one. I have an excellent lesson, he might be happier, but no, if he doesn't hear me practice one day, I'm in trouble. Screw the excellent lesson.
He wants an excuse to throw me off the computer. If it's written on paper, he can do it. He can be like "You haven't practiced enough at all. Get off. You're grounded." And I can argue that my lessons are good and it won't do a thing with him because he's just twisted like that.
I hate him. I can guess what he thinks. Because he just has to be a fucking handicap, staying home all day with nothing to do except downloading illegal stuff from the internet and upgrading computers and watching TV and swimming. And doing who-knows-what. And now I'm the only one home. And all of his attention is focused on me. And he just has to monitor every single thing I do because he's a damn control freak.
PARANOID PARANOID PARANOID PARANOID
Ah, fuck. I don't want to be crying when I'm at school. At least it's only 6:30.
I'm filled with resentment and I just can't let it out anywhereanywhereaaanywhere because no matter what I do the stupid timesheet still sits there. And when I see it my heart flies into a rage and I'm absolutely furious with him. But there's nothing I can do to let out my fury. I can rant and rant and rant and chuck things around my room (not smart) and even throw a tantrum if I wanted to but it won't help at the the end it'll still be there. And there's no escaping him. Why can't he let me operate my life the way I want to? I swear, the computer WON'T KILL ME.
(It's like I have so much anger bottled up and ready to explode except I can't let it explode and I can only hold it back to small explosions that accidentally slip out here and there but I can never never never never allow it to really explode because then I'll go full-out rebellion and he'll just take the computer away and it'll be stupid stupid stupid and my reasonable brain tells me this and I won't let it happen but IT JUST MAKES ME MAD AS HELL AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT)
Edit: The best course of action, I guess, would be to actually practice them all every day as long as I'm supposed to. And use the computer less. When dealing with my parents I can't do anything except swallow my pride - at least I'm capable of that, when the need arises, else my computer would be long gone by now. Of course, that doesn't make me any less furious or any less rebellious... What I do and what I think are now completely separate.
>< I should just go to school. School will be a welcome relief, after all these disasterous events at home.
Edit: Yay. I'm happier now. School def. helped. Amy's home hobbling around with a cane on a twisted ankle because she fell down the stairs (there weren't any crutches her size). Rofl if it weren't for her hair you could easily say she was an old woman, looking at her from the back.
Didn't do any of my hw last night, so finished them during orchestra, tutorial, and drived. Made me feel somewhat more productive.
Also glad that I no longer wish to rip the damn timesheet in half every time I look at it. Very very glad that the white-hot raging sensation of pure fury has boiled down. 'Twas scary. I've never felt so unearthly angry before, save the time when Adam slapped me across the face when I was little and talked his way out of it with rounded lies and actually made it into my fault.
Wheee~ Now I just feel... resigned. But I'm glad that I'll be able to fill out the timesheet without destroying any pens or ripping it up or damaging any of my other personal possessions. (-looks pointedly at Eliza- Your advice always seems somewhat... ......)
