Wow I’m eighteen! All the
rights I gain with that figure! I’m so excited! I’m old enough to vote. Oh boy,
oh boy, oh boy! So electrifying!
NOT!
Most of you probably think
I’m some spoiled brat who wants to crawl back into her mother’s womb and be safe
there forever after reading this, but I’s not quite so. Immature and juvenile
as I am, my mother, my parents really, are exactly what I want to get as far
away from as possible. The events of today’s agitating Sunday are testimony to every
reason I have to detest being close to the people I should want to never
separate from.
There are, of course times
when I love them, there really are, and I really do love them, but their being
close to me has proven to be corrosive.
But I’m steering into generalizations
rather than specific events that hold witness to this.
As previously mentioned, I
am ‘of age’ (*barf*) and have the right to vote. Today was Election Day…for…well
I never really cared to find out what, but my parents bullied me into voting
saying that not voting is treason and basically handing this country, which I couldn’t
give a rat’s ass for, to the enemy, which concerns me just about as much as the
country.
This morning started out
normally for me, and I had no clue I had to go cast the vote I never even sought
up until everyone else was up and talking about it and busying me into getting
my ID card and not doing my little Sunday rituals.
As we drove toward the
election spot, I felt completely apathetic to my mom’s proud ranting about my
impressive age as if my sis and I were the only eighteen-year-olds on earth and
as if voting was some grand thing to be done even though you’re completely unperturbed
by the matter.
What I soon discovered was
to set a series of events that prove just how many worlds apart my parents and I
are. As I was about to enter the voting room, I realized my wallet had probably
fallen out on my bed as I grabbed my bag on my way out of the house. I calmly
told my parents about it, figuring we’d just drive back home like civilized
people and get the stupid piece of plastic. I was wrong. Gravely wrong. My mom
started to shriek her high-pitched banshee scream and my dad gritted bloody
murder through his teeth, my sister looking at me like I’m retarded, all saying
we’ll deal with the ‘problem’ after they have voted. As we exited the building
they all started talking about how I’m irresponsible, unfit for life, how
everything I do, from breaking my elbow to forgetting my stupid ID card is so
typically me and how I’ll never be a
citizen of society and shit like that.
Uhh…hellooo, I will not be
a citizen of this society seeing that I’m leaving this shithole soon and I’m a
rebel with my own view of things. They blew things totally out of proportion
and what was to be a ten-minute drive back home turned into a witch hunt for me,
resulting in them blaming ‘the noise from that wretched gizmo’ and my hairdo
for me being different from my perfect sister, them banning my listening to
music anywhere in their presence and me not getting the book I had eyed and
extensive damage to my ears and mental wellbeing due to their anti-me rant.
With normal parents extreme
cases end with a lecture and the farthest it ever gets is a mild form of what I
had endured, but in my case the prosecution continued into lunch and every
moment I met with either one of these raging politically active screaming
banshees. I still had to vote though, no escape from my ‘obligations’.
So what the fuck if I’m
eighteen. I hate politics and I’m definitely not an adult. I’m still immature
and innocent and I don’t drink myself to oblivion, in fact I don’t drink at
all. I don’t feel, or act like I’m eighteen. I never asked for this ‘right’ to
vote and be able to purchase alcohol because I never wanted it. I’m still a
child and they don’t understand.
On the bright side of
things though, there’s one person who does understand me and accept me the way I
am, and I couldn’t be thankful enough for having Blå. He’s the only one who
understands the way I feel and I’m feeling something new for him. Call it love.
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