.:] From the Renoir Journal [:.

No date but had to have been in my last few months of high school - Spring 1991

So my mother just dumped all this junk in my room and called it art. I mean literally, a plastic gerbage bag I actually used to pick up junk, she dumped it in my room and no I am not going to sink to that childish behavior my parents who are "adults" (?) use. Though I have this incredibly great urge to wreck my room. Why has this room been such a problem? I don't understand. Fuck off. I can't wait to get out of this house. I don't care to do anything for myself she says. Won't be able to take care of myself she says. So now I have her nagging voice sitting in my head calling me a failure. Does this mean that's what fate is to be?

I actually found this entry last week. And I thought it was kinda funny at the time, like an example of teenage rebellion er how crazy my mom gets. But when I found myself telling Ddub this story, he had this sympathetic look on his face. Only then I realized it was really sad and I couldn't look him in the eye.

I told Hedds this story. She pointed out that it has changed after awhile. They tried to be supportive. To be fair to my parents they tried their best. I mean what do you do with a daughter that you have a hard time relating to?

I think most importantly, after a brief conversation with my mother this morning. I know now when she's being ornery and trying to start to bring me down. And I won't deal with it. I've too many other things to do. Like be a rock star.... do art... write more... and finally watch The Big Lebowski.