I seriously hate my mother. It's just because of the little things she does, she says. I really, really hate it.

And she wonders why our relationship isn't very good.

My older brother is starting to stand up to my mother a bit, hiss and spit with fury. I've heard him mutter 'Bitch.' under his breath more than once when my mother was walking away after tearing through him for something.

Today, I woke up at, like, eleven, but counted spots on my cieling until nearly twelve. Got up, made myself a lovely wholesome breakfast, cleaned up some of my stuff (by order of my /dear/ mother, of course) then thought: "Hm. You know, I should do my chores before I do anything else." And so I unloaded the dish rack, swept the dining room and the kitchen, but didn't even think of cleaning up the kitchen, because I've only got it once a week and no one does it ever anyway.

So I skip downstairs to my dear friends, the computers, and start fiddling around like I usually did. I even logged in my time when I started, which I frequently neglect to do. (My parents like to have an idea of how much people are on the computer, so we have to sign in and sign out.)

And then I'm called back upstairs. And I'm irritated, but I thought: "Oh. Ya. Damn. Forgot the kitchen."

So I start cleaning up the kitchen, and my mother is in the dining room, staring at the floor, hands on her hips.

"It doesn't look like you've done the floor yet, Rosie."

And one thing I hate, completely and utterly /hate/ is being called a lier when I'm telling the truth (that next to people automatically assuming things, like I'm too lazy and stupid to have swept the dining room). I did sweep the dining room. In fact, the only thing I didn't do was shake the mat off outside. I even swept the whole floor again after I shook out the mat, thinking that maybe I'm just blind, but I got virtually nothing. And this pissed me off.

"I /did/ do the floor, mother."

"Well you didn't shake off the mat, and that's the most important thing."

*fume*

"You know, it'll be /reeeally/ interesting to see what happens when you move out on your own."

*/fume/* (I snapped something back here, because I couldn't stay silent any longer. I don't remember what it was, though.)

"You're going to have to find a couple other /slobs/ to live with, you know, when you move out."

*hissssss...*

"You know, you only have one more year here then you have to move out, get a job...it should be interesting..." Like I'm her little experiment, and not really a person at all.

"I can't /wait/." (This was me, through gritted teeth.)

"Oh good! You can start now then!..." But by this time I was headed down the stairs, I didn't want to hear what she was saying.

You know how much stuff like that hurts?...A social worker is coming on Friday to talk to us kids about mom.

What should I say? Should I say she pulls a hard rein, but she's reasonable and negociable?

Or should I tell them I fear my mother and cry at /least/ three times a week because of her? Not that she'd know, of course. I never cry in front of her anymore. It'll just get me more spiteful remarks ("Don't be a /baby/, Rosie. Stop crying or I'll really give you something to cry about.").

Should I say my mother runs a well organized house hold, where everyone know their place?

Or should I tell them I hate my mother with such a deep, dark hate that sometimes I wish I could just put myself out of my misery by killing her?

Should I tell them about the time my mother asked me and my older brother Martin whether we had a happy family (for a foster parent thing she was filling) and we both didn't really know, because we didn't know what a happy family was?

Should I tell them I give my mother Christmas and birthday and mother's day gifts only because she'll guilt trip me to hell if I don't, and not because I actually really want to?

Should I tell them I want out /now/, I want to go into a foster home, I want away from her razor tongue and hateful gaze?

Should I?

I don't know.

I wanted to talk to Tatsu. He was online. But he couldn't talk, and left. I didn't tell him what I wanted to talk about, I just...y'know...started the small talk conversation. Or tried to.

*sigh*

It's too early to phone Mike. I want to, but it's too early. He'll still be asleep...

I really do want to move out. Like, seriously, desperately, above all else. I want to move out.

Sure, it'd be a drag...getting a job...or getting on welfare...getting a place to live, people to live with...maybe I will get some 'slobs' to live with...that'd be nice...

But the best thing about it is, if I so desired, I'd never have to talk to my mother ever again.

Never, ever.

Ever.

I'd like that.

Before&After