Bitch.

I'm pretty sure I fit the description. I am possibly the most evil daughter for any set of parents to contend with. Why is it that every so often, when things are just too simple and good, that I feel the burning need to screw things up? To cause as much grief that is possible for my mother so that I can mask my own self-destructive insecurity.

It happens every time. I called her as I knew she was getting off work knowing I sounded ill. I said I was "just letting her know" that I would be taking the bus home soon to drop off the movie that was due today. Do you see this? How even when things are nice and well that I manipulate the people I care about without any qualms? Of course, just like I knew she would, she offered to drive over to UW instead to come get me. I didn't correct her, that I wouldn't be coming home, figuring that I could tell her when she arrived.

She called me an hour later saying she in the parking lot. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I was pissed. Why couldn't she come to the door so her obviously sick daughter didn't have to go out in the 30 degree weather? And then the snowball just kept rolling, building up. Everyone else's parents have come to campus at least once to spend time with them. They took them around The Ave. Gave them a tour of campus. Ate in the dining hall. But mine? Not once had they ever expressed an interest. They never call just to check up or talk. It's always me keeping the contact alive.

And so I grabbed the movie and slowly made my way to the car. I still wanted to talk to her about doing a study abroad program in Cambodia for seven weeks this summer and figured I would get over my previous anger if we talked. So I opened the door and she looked at me. Without a word. Then when back to shuffling something around in the car, God knows what. And my anger resurfaced just like that. Like whenever I come home or see her she never greets me. Actually, if I didn't do any of the talking with my parents there wouldn't be anything said between us. After a couple seconds of me standing there I set the movie on the seat, shut the door, and walked back to the dorms without a word. From behind me, I could tell that the car hadn't moved. That she was still waiting in the parking lot. If it were a perfect world, she would've called after her selfish and deranged daughter. I knew it would never happen. I secretly hoped my phone would start vibrating with her confused call as I reached my room.

It did. A few minutes into being settled back into my bed, trying not to be upset, she called. "Are you coming back?" She said.

"No."

"Oh," She pauses here. "So I just drove here to pick up the movie?"

"Yes."

"You could have told me that."

"I thought you knew."

"You could have said something," She says in this small voice that only makes me angrier. How dare she make me feel guilty? "I could have been waiting out here for hours."

Silence.

Then she hangs up.

Trying to keep this interlude off my mind is impossible. All I feel is emptiness. I should feel satisfaction. I'm the one who won this battle.

Right?

Turkey Day

Here I am, a college student back at home for a day in which Americans can celebrate overeating habits. The kitchen is loud with the constant noise of my mother's cooking and Tony is somewhere downstairs most likely sleeping until the smell of food wakens him. He's like a whole new spin on Sleeping Beauty, that one. And me? I'm in the guestroom, in otherwords the Siberia of our household, obssessing over the things I want and the things I need.

Since when did kids have to make life-altering decisions at such young ages? Because that's what I feel like right now: a kid. I may have moved out (into a dorm that my parents pay for) but the sparkling illusion of independence that I started out with has faded these past few months. I came into college with all of these goals and expectations. I could do anything I wanted. Even if it meant taking classes and doing things that never particularly interested me. But where along that line did I figure out what my mom wanted and what I myself wanted instead? Was it realizing that I hate science courses? Or that I really do miss writing? I'm not quite sure where my dreams of becoming a journalist for National Geographic or some other environmental/cultural magazine drifted away and were replaced by my mom's dream of medical school. And how, when I decided I couldn't possibly make it into medical school, did writing never cross my mind?

Instead, I decided I could wipe asses for a living as a nurse. I told myself, it's practical. It pays well, there's tons of job openings, and there isn't too much schooling. But when did something that once had absolutely no appeal to me suddenly become my backup plan? Is being a writer really so far off that I can no longer consider it an option?

It's hard, trying not to disappoint the people you love. But I am at that point now, where I have to decide between making myself happy and making my family happy. The time will soon be upon me to explain to my mother that yes, you can trust me. I can do this too. There are other paths to success, and this is the one that I can actually trek. It may be strange to you that there are majors without clear career paths, but this leaves me space to find my way. And before I can find the words for all of that, I'm going to need to learn to believe in myself a little more. Believe that I do actually belong at UW and am just as capable of happiness as any other student.

So until then, I'll stuff my face with turkey and be in the company of a family that loves me in its own way. Or at least, that's what I'll keep telling myself. Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty. =]