However right now, sitting in our terrace under my gay umbrella and sipping my chili-chai tea, I can't be bothered and besides I feel that my responsibilities of the day have been fulfilled by putting together a notably lame-looking Exel document about phone operators in the UK for my own future reference, thus I'm justified to blogpost a bit. I don't know why, but all these practical things concerning my moving in Wales and starting in the uni just really freak me out. I am eager to go and especially to study but I wish I could jump straight to the being-there part instead of arranging things and being stressed. I'll surely be stressed there too, but that's another story.
Fuck this rambling, though, for I planned to talk about families.
And now I will.
My family is quite alright: we don't fight a lot, our parents have always been supportive towards our hobbies and listened to our opinions, we don't have any strict rules around here and things like money matters and curfews are discussed together to fit each occasion. I respect my parents even though my dad is rather known of his small-mindedness (although I think that certain parts of my lifestyle have broadened his horizons at least a tiny bit). However with age comes independence and courage and consequently I nowadays find myself capable of observing mother and father more objectively and sort of looking beyond our relationship to see what kind of persons they really are. Being an over-analyser in nature I've found quite a lot of qualities, which I'm not going to elaborate now to prevent your death of boredom, that we have in common. In short, I'm bossy like my mum and competitive like my dad.
Aahnyway. I'm drifting again.
I'm aware that based on the description above this family of mine may seem an exemplary one. And maybe it is, too. It depends on where you compare to. (Is that even grammatically correct?)
But I don't feel that we're particularly close. Yes, we have these family dinners in weekends and holidays when everybody's present (or used to be before this relationship of mine, ahem) and yes we sometimes sit together in the living room watching TV and talking random shit. I used to tell about my worries to mother (selectively, though) and we did more stuff together when I was younger. Now though I prefer turning to some friend of mine (I have such a variety of them that I can actually pick whomever best suits my situation, it's super-handy!) in case I need advice or just a pair of sympathetic ears. I've tried to figure out what is it that hinders me from opening up to my mum, for it's not the lack of trust really. And yes, I have a conclusion, which I will share in a moment. First, let's revise why I willingly confine to my friends: they are about the same age hence they don't know noticeably more of life than I do, they are insecure in a way that keeps them from offering advice (no matter how useful it might be) and they usually know how to correctly scale my catastrophes without either underestimating or exaggerating their level of seriousness. Now then, why I assume I find it difficult to talk to my mother? She obviously knows my character rather well thanks to her 20 years of experience, but while this could be an advantage, I'm afraid that in these occasions it turns against her. In this blog, I have multiple times brought up my tendency of being somewhat dramatic with emotions, and of all people my mother, for sure knows best how true that statement can be. She's seen me sad, angry, excited, stressed, happy, eager, confused, irritated and afraid and is therefore familiar with my outbursts that are not always quite in line with their causes (= she knows I overreact). So, to sum up this incomprehensible babble, I feel that my mother underestimates my problems and sets herself above me 'because it is part of your age'. And while this is probably a valid argument through and through, I do not wish to hear it when I'm upset and distressed.
Much more comforting is to sit with someone who's equally as puzzled and troubled and share experiences. Or just rant on phone and pretend the other is paying attention to everything you say whilst, as a matter of fact, you can hear them scrolling down Tumblr.
|Can't blame them on that though since you can find stuff like this in tumblr.|
I have to admit being a teeny bit jealous about how natural and trustful relationships some of my friends seem to have with their mothers. On second thought I wouldn't even call it jealousy but some mixed-up emotion since I'm truly happy to see that the mother-daughter thingy exists, yet I'm sad that we, in all honesty, don't have it. Not at this point at least.
This not-being-willing-to-trust-my-family-members-in-my-personal-businesses applies to my father, brother and sister as well. It's not that surprising though since I've always been closest to mother. That doesn't make it any less of a pity. Once again I have good examples of functional relationships with siblings in my closest circle but regardless that I sometimes randomly invade my sister's room and ramble on about my stuff, she likes to keep things to herself, which doesn't honestly even bother me for I know also other people who are like that *cough* (clearly not pointing to anyone in particular), and yet I hope we had more mutual interests so that we could hang out more and stuff (congratulations if you can keep up with that sentence). I sometimes think about how it would be to have a big brother or sister. Being the eldest has its advantages, of course but seeing how much lesser is expected from my little brother really gets on my nerves. And admittedly it could be nice to have someone who'd already survived the phases I'm wading through and who could give some brotherly/sisterly advice if needed (see how I shamelessly decline any motherly advice available while practically begging for the siblingly sort).
Then again, I can borrow my girlfriend's big brother at any time.
Lately I've noticed feeling - not depressed no - but a little afflicted about living at home especially now when everyone's around in holidays. It's not that anyone was pouring truckloads of responsibilities and to-dos over me - I'm just under this (imaginary) pressure all the time. For one, I know that mother utterly dislikes my mess of a room and my disorganised ways (she hasn't seen my girlfriend's place, though [How many times I even need to mention my girlfriend in one post?]) and whilst she seems to settle with pointing that out only once in a while, I know that it irritates her, which in turn irritates me because in my opinion it's my room and my mess, which she definitely needn't take so personally. Then there's my brother leaving his stuff and dirty tissues all over the place and my sister who eats my lactose-free yoghurt and mother who moves my things if I've left them somewhere for two minutes. As you see, there's nothing drastically wrong, merely a bunch of little things that bug me and cause me to be little unhappy about the situation.
Given all this, moving away sounds rather heavenly - except that I'm really stressed about it like I told you in the beginning of this blogpost (a blogpost that seems to evolve more and more dull in every letter). This is something I haven't been able to properly talk about with anyone (although I think I might've mentioned being scared in some earlier entry, but screw that). I mean, I genuinely worry about everything from how I am going to fit all my stuff in that little campus room to what if I and my girlfriend break up (yes, I actually fear that, which is possibly exceedingly stupid and has nothing to do with anything and yet I've sacrificed a considerable amount of time for thinking about it, so pray, do laugh at me). The only thing that doesn't freak me out is probably the sheep which Wales is so famous for.
|Too much stuff: terrifying|
|Sheep: not terrifying.|
I don't know what happened to this text for my intention was to make it at least half-sensible and demi-interesting - apparently I was too ambitious.
Forgive the blandness. I shall go now and be ashamed of my unquality.