Conspiracy of One: Stop the Questions
Questions drive me crazy. My mother asks me too many questions…dangerous questions. My definition of dangerous is “somehow leading to an argument.”
So, she asked a question about finances; to be specific, my ability to afford a car note, insurance, cable bill, and still bleach my hair. Sure enough, I have no idea how I would be able to pull that off, yet I know I’d be able to do it. As such, I felt no particular need to babble about stuff I have no current plan or knowledge about, so I did not. Unfortunately, my mother suffers from an unhealthy inferiority complex, which led to me getting ripped.
So, I hear about how I’m neglectful, disrespectful, arrogant, and other negative adjectives. Say what you will about me, but I keep a level of privacy preferable to my lifestyle. I don’t like straight answers when being a prick will do. When I’m interrogating, I get straight answers. When I’m being interrogated, I activate defense mode. It’s my primary function for questionable situations. And I’ve mentioned this to her, but she can’t seem to fucking cope with the fact that I choose my situations wisely, as in, I choose situations I can win. Situations where I can’t cripple my opponent, well, there’s no point in it for me.
Which leads me to settle on moving out this fall. Let’s face it; shit isn’t going to get any better here as long as there are questions I don’t want to answer. It’s not about being a child and an adult. As long as I’m not snorting coke or sleeping with a different girl every night (or any girl, for that matter), understand this: I don’t understand your questions. Don’t ask. Just don’t ask. Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – Josh Kelley “I Don’t Mind Singing”