Well. Haven't written in a while... But today I am particularly miffed. Lucky you.
Quite a bit has happened... I finally went to the doctor to see about what's wrong with me. And they don't know either. So now they're going to experiment on me. Yay! They want to see if it's my lungs (incase it's athletic induced asthma) or my heart. I'm pretty sure that it's both, but whatever. So I have to use a puffer before I do anything athletic for a month and see what that does. And I got an ECG done to monitor my heart rate shortly, see if it's irregular. I'm also going to get this other monitor thing for 24 hours, again to monitor my heart beat. I'm supposed to go for a run with it, apparently. Then they're going to make me breath in a bunch of gasses and see what happens...
Yeah. Fun times over here.
I did poorly on a math test recently... Dad just got through shouting at me. Cried a bit. But Kare Bear cheered me right on up, since she spoke to me as soon as I opened my computer. She's so silly. Love that girl~! And my mom just came in to talk it over with me. She promised never to bring up school work at the dinner table again.
Oh, yeah. The whole fight happened during dinner. Then he stormed out.
There's a reason why I hate Christmas, and it has to do with my dad. When I was, say, about seven, I still loved Christmas. Even though my cousins tormented me, I still loved the presents and getting together with family. I loved the idea of Santa and gifts and holiday cheer. Now, I hate all of that. I don't believe in it anymore. It's all just a facade. Underneath, we can't stand each other. We've already thought up a thousand and one insults by the time the turkey's in the oven and our ego's are suffering extreme abuse. As you may have learned, my dad's got a pretty sensitive one.
Dad's a big athlete. He was even more so at the time. If he didn't swim at the same time every day, he was convinced that he would be set back a huge amount. My aunt and uncle were arriving with their seven sons soon and my dad wanted to go swimming. He didn't exactly get along with them. My oma, however, wanted him to stay until the family got settled in, after which he would be free to go. The entire thing was immature and silly, to be honest, and it was forty below outside.
As each party grew more insistent, finally a fuse blew. My oma shouted at my dad, "Well I hope you break your head!" On Christmas eve. Right in front of me.
Of course, dad wasn't exactly happy. He grabbed all his bags, since he never really unpacks, said goodbye, and abandoned my mom and me there. I didn't think he would ever come back. My oma showed no signs of guilt and kept muttering curses against him under her breath. I, of course, decided the best thing to do was to run outside in the blizzard in just my pjs and little boots after my dad. Mom ran after me... My mom and dad got in a huge fight, but dad still left. He didn't come back for hours and that's all that I can remember. Ever since, I've had a complete and utter loathing for Christmas and the entire "family thing." I also think that traditional social behaviours are a waste of time, since we're all faking it anyway. Still, there's a level of decency.
Not even I'm low enough to abandon all civility.
-Persephone
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