Thursday, October 30, 2014

Dear Diary


After weeks of pleasant, lift-you-up-because-you-know-someone-is-reading-and-enjoying-your-blog stats, I opened up my blogger account this morning to understand that something must have happened to Blogger and those inflated, feel-good stats weren't actually my stats, but they were like ghost stats or something, because the numbers today didn't reflect the numbers from last week. I think I prefer the ghost stats. Not that I am complaining.

I am totally complaining.

So today, my blog will be a journal, of sorts, somewhere to just let the word vomit filling up my head actually spill onto the pages. That's a nice visual, isn't it?

I'm afraid my 
own awesomeness 
won't translate to the real world.
{axl heck}

Yeah. You and me both, Axl Heck.

Dear Diary,

So why do elderly people have to be such grumps? And are old grumpy people just senior versions of their own younger, grumpy selves? And when it's your own family member who you are accusing of being a grump, is it possible that you could have turned a blind eye to the grump when you were younger, only to be shocked by the grumpiness later on in life?

Because grandma was showing herself yesterday. Arguing and carrying on with the girl who stays with her during the day, and talking about showing her ninety-year-old hoo-ha to the public, and how "she don't care no more". HER HOO-HA, y'all. REALLY? Poor Shirley. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet and gentle and, like, lovable.

My whole delusional world has just come crashing down on me.

And now I've got my eye on some potential future grumps, which makes me feel like I smell something really bad in the air, and I don't like it. And then I'm like am I a future grump? Because that's not cool at all.

And this. Why do almost-twelve-year-old have to act like actual twelve-year-olds? Is there a twelve-year-old handbook out there that I don't know about that says NUMBER ONE: Act like you don't care NUMBER TWO: Act like you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, and then announce it to the world at large NUMBER THREE: Give your mother a hard time whenever possible because this makes life FUN? I'm telling you. We need to confiscate said handbook and burn it.

And why do nine-year-olds not actually say what is on their mind, but get cranky about it when you do something they asked to do, just not on the EXACT timeline they asked to do it on? And then answer every question with a no.

Do you want to leave? No
Do you want to stay? No
Are you happy? No
Do you want to walk? No
Do you want to run? No
Are you mad? No
Do you want to play? No
Are you sad? No
Are you embarrassed to be here with me? No
What do you want to do? NO

I mean, like, WHAT THE WHAT, y'all? What does that even mean? You don't know what you want to do? You're unhappy with what you are doing? You don't have any idea and you're just mad about it?

No, no and no. I guess.

And then on the way home from the exact thing they wanted to do (but not on the exact timeline, remember) they go "that was fun!"  and you're left standing there like what was fun?  and then they run off to go do something and you're all like staring at them and wondering if a) you should yell I TOLD YOU SO at them or b) even say anything else for the entire rest of the night because obviously you are having language-barrier-issues.

Signing off, because abruptness is totally appropriate in a dairy.



No comments:

Post a Comment