My Genes

My parents are the pillars of this family. Both generous and supportive, I am fortunate to have come from a solid foundation. I am old enough to see pieces of myself in each of them, lending itself to head-butting most recently. Even the vivid memories of their salvaging me on numerous occasions... is not enough to prevent me from mincing my words.

There was a point in life where showing up to class was rough. You know, parents to foot the bill(s), parents who made life--through college and before--livable. It was quite tough. And now, living at home is rough. These same parents, currently providing daily food, water, access to my old wardrobe, and shelter free of charge. I'm unemployed but safely harbored. I attest: it is equally tough.

Someone slap the ungracious brat now because her life could be a whole lot worse. And she, for some reason, just can't grasp that.

My parents don't read this blog, granting me full ranting rights. Only joking. Actually there is nothing to hide--my parents have, for the most part, been wonderful. I have no more beef with them than any other 24 year old girl. I am here as a result of a hearty chunk of their time, love, patience, energy, and finances. I am forever indebted to and infinitely thankful for my folks and the stable upbringing.

The distress is not either one parent. It's me... and my want to be me and free... away from here, from this house.

We (me + mom + pop) are gratefully different. The Mom + Pop equations equates to success, coming up here on 29 years of it. Throw me, intensely opinionated adult daughter, into the mathematical statement and you have a problem this retired math teacher struggles to solve. My 'ideas' are tossed into the air ad nauseam. And they are rarely heard... so... I proceed to make the tense atmosphere, created by yours truly, a lot bit tenser.

This situation can only be compared to communicating with those hard-of-hearing. Instead of pausing, using sign language if you process the capability, or finding alternative means to converse you raise your voice wanting to be heard. The process is unsound [pun intended]. And yet no one ever learns from this experience.

My annoyances span from the amount of waste to the use of the 'dirty dozen' chemicals by the cleaning team to the spoil-rotten dog to finances to their social calendar. Broadcasting my dirt with my parents for viewing, though composed and ready for publish, would not be the most tactful decision I made today. The daughter-mother-father trio functions exceedingly well apart; we adjusted to our separate lives over six years ago, being forced to step WAY back is finally, three months in, taking its toll. For the longer I stay the more catastrophic my outburst--in the form of cultivated frustration and amplified volume--will be. Multiply the practice problem (regarding the hearing impaired) by 1000 and you have where I am on this rainy early autumn morning.

As for the rents... they're probably baffled by the out-of-place hugs received last night with these burning words in mind.