Waking Up Tired

Waking Up Tired
Feeling sick after I eat. Feels like the norm now that it's happened a few days in a row. I'm pretty sure I was dreaming about - something about living in an awesome condo, hiding from the press, a friend hiding in a locker that had lots of midol and Tylenol. I think it was Halloween with people and a few costumes here and there. The condo was nice, big tall floor to ceiling windows.

I woke up this morning and was sitting in the washroom and I thought to myself, when I build my own place, I want sliding doors, swinging doors take up too much room. The Japanese got it right.
I barely ate this morning. I woke up really early to let the dog out of my room to go back to bed. Mmm the as I was getting out of bed the knocking on the wall annoys me.

I spent so many hours last night painting. I got to just paint the white now. My dads do anal. He seems to be so glad I'm sanding and painting. He was complaining about.. Oh where's the electric sander.. You know Im so tired from home . Do you know how tired I am when I come home and sand, and hurt my neck. When I worked on the basement I realized, he didn't even try to sand it. Someone partially painted a wall that made things more difficult for me to flatten and paint, then I just gave up. And just painted over it.

Dad's all saying I should go for my road test. Saying how much my insurance is going to cost if I don't go soon. Then he goes to say how I have no drive for anything. - I told him not to talk to me about money, it's not about money- I barely practice driving and me being fully comfortable while driving well, I need to be there. Then he goes to say that I'll be forty if that's the way I want to do it. My dad can go fuck himself for saying stupid shit to me. Two things he ever complains and talks about is Money, an Food. He complains and worries about money all the time and talks about food. What I should eat, what I can't and shouldn't, what he got for a deal, and what was on sale. That's the gist of my dad's conversations when he talks to me. He never asks how I am, nor what I'm up to, how is work. The only thing he would ask me is, how much I make. He belittles me and always insinuates some kind of perception of me being worthless - or useless. Ahhh Shit - I hate talking about money. If you keep complaining about not having money, or worry about money, you will always never have enough money and will always worry about money. Come on even my palm reader told me, Money is the least of my worries - I will always have money throughout my lifetime.

I hate the mental abuse, I probably have gotten it the worst out of my siblings. My sister said I shouldn't tell my dad of my successes because to him, they will most likely never be good enough.

That's a horrible thought isn't it- making your child believe they will never be good enough. It's no wonder I used to be a bit suicidal.


 
*later addition* I can't believe I forgot to add this, that I just love getting things in the mail. I got my mini light saber and the things I ordered from home depot. When I was painting I discovered the bird kept going in the food container, he did it twice so I filmed a little and photographed it.