Diarrhea

Diarrhea sucks. I don't like having diarrhea. Especially paired with cramps. And traveling all around Bali in a car. And disgusting public restrooms.

I get diarrhea every time I travel. I guess this is normal, but it still sucks. I hope it goes away today.

I don't know how to live with this.

So here I sit, crying. Sitting in the room that used to be mine, next to the big wet stain where all my tears were rolling off my face onto the quilt before I sat up, composed myself, went to go get dinner, and then wound up coming back here to cry some more. This time with typing.

Why? My mother.

Does she every have anything nice to say? She spent the vast majority of the time I was eating my salad telling me off about using the ATM, rather than cashing travellers checks.

This is what she does. She goes on and on about my flaws, my mistakes, tries to get me to me say them in my own words, tells me what to do, and how to do it, critizes me for any mistake I make, or even the things that are not mistakes. Things like not drinking the apple/peach/passion fruit drink that was sitting on the ground, buried under some papers. How was I supposed to know she was saving that for going to Pinion Pines?

We disagreed about making food. I want to make my own food. It's simpler, and I don't have to interact with mother. She said I could, but not this time, because she had already cooked the rice (which, on reflection, doesn't matter at all). So I plunged my hands into a dead chicken and ripped off all the flesh I could, putting it into a small dish. (An amount that wasn't enough to satisfy her, apparently.) So I can eat on my own. In fact, we have agreed that it is the default.

Caveat: Talking with her after the juice incident, I am apparently supposed to ask her permission for which foods I can use to make food. For every item. How am I supposed to make my meals like that? Wait until she is around, and bring her over to the fridge and ask her about all the items in the fridge, hoping that there is enough food in the fridge that she does not have plans for so I can make my meal? This would be easier if I could buy my own food, and put it in my own fridge, but I am making dinner off of the family stockpile, like mother would, except she knows what food can be used, and I don't. This is going to be fun like nails.

But back to the criticism. She constantly does it. Constantly, constantly, constantly. Towards me, towards the kiddos, etc. Telling people what that what they are doing is "unacceptable" or telling them what to do, telling them how to do things.

Freedom: Freedom needs sovereignty. It really does. If I am not the sovereign controller of my own actions, then I cannot excercise my freedom. Putting it into practice, I'm sitting around, constantly on call. I'm glad that things have been segregated into work days and non-work days, but she seems to believe that her plans, created with no imput from other parties, override whatever other people want to do, or are doing. Dad doesn't even know what the plans are, he just takes his instructions, and does them, completely engulfed in her choices. I get dragged along as well - I spent from noon onwards yesterday simply in the car, following her around, because she decided I needed to go to the Honk rehearsal, in a somewhat revisionist version of policy. I think she wanted me under her thumb to supervise.

Honk: Originally, she was trying to contact Ammi and Danny, and I could go hang with them during the Honk rehearsal. They live in the area, three miles from the rehearsal spot. After my dental appointment, she decided that I was going along with her to pick up Kerria, bring Kerria to Speech, bring Kerria to her playdate thing in the park, and bring Kerria to the rehearsal. Golden - I expressed my belief that I was completely superfluous in all of those things - I had no role in any of it. She told me that she thought I should go to the Honk rehearsal. This made little sense, but.

Blargh, have to get ready to go to Pinion Pines. Microwave food, go. Hell, I know I'll be waiting.

People leaving.

A lot of my fellow EUSA students left today.

Carolyn is off to Spain, Carissa and Megan are on their way back to the US.

There go a bunch of cool people...

Sleep Fail.

Last night, I went to bed late. About 1am. Go me. I was working on a paper.

Today, at 3am, I finished said paper. I did not think I would be mobile in the morning to print it out before class. Walked several blocks to get to the computer lab, printed term paper out.

It is now raining. Hard.

Fuck my life.

(Hard.)

Paper

I do not like this paper. I do not like it in a box. I do not like it with a fox. I...

The funny thing is, if I were at ASU, this paper would be rediculously easy. My internet would be fast enough to run ASU's journal database, and I would have the ASU library to borrow books from. It's a four page paper. I would write it the night before.

But I don't have those resources. The books I have are off-topic, and I have to hunt through them for what I need. I can't find journals to explain everything I need to know. I just don't have the resources.

And then there's the question of additional reasons for Do Not Want. I have my internship, which takes time and tires me out. I am in London, and I would rather be doing something more interesting. It is the summer, and I don't feel like I should be writing papers.

Also, it is on a topic that I don't have very much knowledge about, and am relatively ambivalent to. Youth culture is not something I know much about in the US, and not something I know very much about in the UK. Not the history of it from the 1960s until now, and not current youth culture. I'm supposed to mention genres of music and fashion that existed in youth culture. I don't know how music sounds in the proper time period. Classical, big-band, salsa, boogie-woogie... this is not the music I need. My dad's time period, and thus the music I overhear, is unhelpfully before the time period I need, and I don't think that Roar of the Earth or the Lord of the Rings soundtrack or the Hyrule Symphony are things I can talk about.

I do not like this paper.

What the hell?

Does the world not want me to ever get a good night's sleep?

I went to bed tonight, things were not too hot, and it only took a while to fall asleep... and then I was woken up my some of my roommates coming back, talking not-hushed-at-all, and the like.

Then woke up at 7:30, not 8am.

What the hell?

I fail at sleep.

So last night I couldn't get to bed. Weather was too hot and sticky.

This night, I was going to go to bed, but wait! I had forgotten to put the laundry into the drier. Darn, had to wait some time.

Went down there, and found my laundry was already in the drier. And was dry.

I realized that I had put my laundry in, put the detergent blocks in, and then left. I had forgotten to put money in and press the button.

So now my clothes are in the washing machine. Go me.

Fuck, I might just go to sleep now, and do the drying business in the morning. At least I'll have a shiney dry new shirt...