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Thursday, 5 September 2013


Can't believe therapy is two weeks away. Two weeks! Minus one day it's technically on Wednesday... but still... two weeks! Two weeks is too long.

Went to the bank with aunt A yesterday, so my first paycheck (due tomorrow, *yay*) will have where to go when it's issued. 

First, there was the wait, during which aunt A attempted small talk: 
 - Heard on the news about x, is it a tragedy? 
 - I don't know, I haven't read much about it.
 - Well it sounds terrible, I'm sure things aren't going very well.
 - I wouldn't know, I haven't looked into it.
 - Would your mum or aunt MT know? 
 - I don't know. It's really best if you just look it up online. There are reputable news sites you can check...
 - But I like to hear other people's opinions... 

1) She won't look it up because she's too lazy to read anything clever
2) Why look it up only for it to turn out not to be a tragedy? When does she have time to talk about it and declare sadness forever?

To open an account, they told me I'd need documents. Aunt A is offended by this, she says such documents are only required because there are so many criminals around and she goes on to repeat time after time that she has an account in this bank and has had one for 20+ years (sure, they'll break the rules for her). She tells me they absolutely didn't ask for anything of the sort before. I say it's because she doesn't need this particular type of document. She's offended by my tone and tells me not to talk to her that way. She insists it was not this way even with BCM. I'm sure it was and BCM just so happened to have a document I don't (imagine who I have to thank for that?) but to tell her she doesn't remember is to make her even more furious so I shut up about it. I tell her it's fine, it's just procedure, that they're not trying to imply I'm a criminal of any sort. She tells me you never know what people are thinking. I leave it alone.

When prompted, I produced an important document. It was enough for aunt A to start telling me I should never leave the house with this document, and terrible things can happen if it gets lost and why did I bring it with me and ... you can probably imagine. I said I wasn't going to lose it. It's not like I brought it on its own. I had my bookbag with me. It didn't stand a chance of getting lost because no one would want the folder or notebook I carried with me and I had no chance of misplacing those. I explain it's fine (without pointing out we would have been waiting in vain if I didn't have all my documents with me, and she was already upset just because we had to wait). She got mad at me and said "You never believe anything I say." Like it's a bad thing! You have no right to say such things when you lie all the time. 

This morning aunt A declared it reeked of cat in the house. Not my fucking problem. I have given up on taking kitty out. She can bloody well do it herself and if she can't figure out that the cat is always in the same spot at night and can't figure out a way to get her out, it's not my bloody problem. I'm quite through feeling like I should be helpful. She doesn't get to pretend it's somehow my fault the house smells. She's the unclean one, she's the lazy one, she's the one that makes me so very unwilling to be helpful. 

When aunt A asked about my cough, I pointed out I only have coughing fits at night and early in the morning, which probably has something to do with lying down and making it easier for phlegm to travel up my trachea and prompting the coughs. No, I'm obviously wrong. It's the fan in my room, which is both lowering the temperature so much it's making me sicker and somehow sucking the moisture out of the room, which dries my throat. I tell her it's not that. She tells me to believe whatever I want to believe. I tell her to believe whatever she wants to believe. When I say it, it's an insult, so she acts hurt and loudly clashes her spoon on her oatmeal bowl, the oatmeal bowl in the microwave oven, slams the fridge door, etc. 

Fast forward to this evening when she arrives and finds me in the kitchen making popcorn. She asked me if I didn't know about a special popcorn machine and why I didn't choose to use it. I tell her I can make popcorn in a pot with a lid. She tells me the machine doesn't even need any oil in it (oh, and you, who made a massive tower of real sugar jelly and crackers intend to tell me not to use a tablespoon of olive oil in my popcorn?). I tell her the oil helps the salt stick better to the popcorn later (that's my logic, at any rate) and that I can make popcorn just fine in a pot. I stand by the pot as it heats waiting for the popcorn to be ready when she asks me if I'm not burning the pot. I ask why I'd be burning it and she walks over to make sure that I have, in fact, put the corn kernels in it. She said she thought I was heating an empty pot. So she's the kind of person who 

1) Thinks pots can be burned by placing them on a hot surface.
2) Thinks I would deliberately try to burn a pot.
3) Thinks the only way to make popcorn right is in a popcorn machine. How in the world did people before such machines manage to even invent machines to make popcorn with when they were obviously doing it wrong before?

I took my popcorn and retreated to my room. I want to do little other than watch  3 idiots (see if that takes the edge off) and wait until it's safe to go to sleep.

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