It's The Little Things

Maybe it was just the early hour, or the four hours of sleep I got last night. Maybe it was just that I fell off the tightrope that one walks on while living at home, this morning (and several mornings lately), but my mom and I got into another argument. Not a fight, I don't have any black eyes this time, and there was no yelling or anger, but it was still ridiculous. Why? Because it was over a pen. And the fact that someone had apparently, blatantly, and without regard to the niceties of civilization, stolen said pen from the visor of my brother's truck. It seems that back in July, when my brother was home, he left that pen and wanted to keep it, so my mom has been keeping it safe for his return, by sticking it in the visor. The best place possible for keeping safe our sentimental mementos. And now the pen was missing and it was an affront to her, because this was her car and someone had stolen something from it.

I pointed out that, in fact, it was my brother's car. I mentioned that someone might have needed to use it and forgotten to put it back (I did not point out that it might have been her, or that by accusing someone of borrowing and then forgetting something she is calling the pot black, when she, the kettle, is blacker than a night in Hell). I suggested that maybe it had fallen out and she would find it when she got out. I defended my own innocence. And then I told her that I thought her argument was just stupid, and that it was just a pen that could be easily replaced, and it's dumb to be that sentimental over a pen that my brother probably forgot he ever wanted. And then, the real issue came out but fortunately, we were at the bus stop and I could get out. I shut the door and rolled my eyes just like I had when I was a teenager and she was dropping me off at school.

Living at home has advantages, but I'm slowly realizing that the disadvantages are big ones. I've always gotten along well with my family, even when I was a grumpy, crotchety teenagerthe dramatic screaming matches and slammed doors were few. But now that I'm an adult the things that I dislike aren't just childish rebellions but actual differences and therefore harder to ignore. I'm no longer thinking "Ohhhh, when I grow up I'm gonna do it so different!" I'm thinking something more along the lines of, "That doesn't make sense, why would she do it that way? This way is obviously better. Well, it is her house. I can't say much." It's getting time to move out. I know this, and yet I don't want to just yet, because I'll be leaving for grad school soon enough and leaving my friends and family for new shores. But on mornings like today, when I get griped at for never taking out the trash, but no credit for doing the dishes like she's always complaining about I really, really can't wait.