Beaster

Grandma had big plans this Easter weekend and I got kicked out of "my" bedroom as a result.

My Uncle Dill came from out of state and basically took over, and I really don't like that. He and I are as drastically different as we possibly could be and it's not cute. He's an interrupter and has this really annoying pattern of speech, he talks with his eyes closed, he only talks about things concerning himself and when he deigns to listen to somebody else about other things it's the most condescending feeling you've ever felt, like he's doing you a favor by participating in a regular conversation. And he slept in "my" bed.

Ever since we filled out her census Grandma has been using the word "Home" a lot in reference to this address and my situation. What she doesn't seem to comprehend is that my parents are in the middle of a divorce, my boyfriend is a thousand miles away, and when she kicks me out of "my" room it shakes that shaky foundation even more.

Uncle Dill thought all this was a favor, and Grandma thought I would be content to sleep on the basement couch. They were both wrong. I went to sleep at Uncle Bob and Aunt Kari's house at the lake. I chased geese, watched fireworks, and bitched about the two assholes at "home." It was great. Grandma was really offended that I was leaving the house upon being so rudely ejected from "my" "own" room, like the privilege of living with her extends to whatever emotional whippings she hands out: "Please, sir, may I have another!" I put her through one salty day, and sugar coated everything after Uncle Dill arrived. I feel manipulative and awful and angry and hurt.

There's something really weird going on with this whole Prodigal Son bullshit. Grandma would love nothing more than to be a young mother again, and she tells me that All. The. Time. Her reminiscences are a real treat, sometimes. (NOT!) I've heard all about people I don't care to hear about from the not-so-distant-past, and heard her imagine futures that don't include me or my siblings. She thinks of me as an intruder. An interloper. A parasite. She values her darling sons much more than her grandchildren, and can't even conceive of us as extensions of our parents. Of herself! I'm a diluted version of all she holds dear, namely, HER! I'm dangerous to her vision of her perfect self, and I scare her, and for that vitality and ability I'm being punished. That and my brown hair. Fucking bigoted blonde bitch.

Ultimately all will be well. I'm under a lot of pressure and things with school are heating up, like, a lot. Grandma doesn't seem to think that my time or activities are worth very much consideration, and because I don't have a job right now that I'm even less worthy. I think she's being ridiculous and that her most recent Perm has fried her brain. We'll be back on track in no time.

Also, I leave for Rhode Island in 46 days.