get my goat

You know what really pisses me off? (besides these stupid acrylic nails that make every other word a typo)

People. In general. All these people, in and out of my home, people who weren't here before, who weren't here when my mother was ill, who didn't donate money to help her get better but will donate towards a funeral, who will sit and talk about what the funeral parlors do to prepare the dead (because never fucking mind that it's my MOTHER you're talking about), and who will try to tell me how to run my own household. Who tell me to be strong when I want to cry. Who tell me to cry when I want to be strong. Who tell me about God and how I can lean on him but does he have a corporeal body that can hold me? NO.

Fucking people. Piss me the hell off. And I don't swear, but I have HAD IT.

I'm not letting anyone into my house anymore. I don't care what their purpose is. If they're not my direct blood relative, or know that they've made it onto my best friends list, then they are no longer welcome. Not when I'm home alone and have to play hostess.

Bull.

I was so upset yesterday. And then stupid me, stupid little me with no guts or whatever, didn't have the courage to speak up and tell them to shut up. To ask them if they had really thought about the words that were coming out of their mouth. I hate Jamaicans. I know that's a really wide generalization to make, but I at least hate most of them. Because they all seem to lack two vital things: 1. A brain-mouth filter, and 2. Discretion.

Instead of speaking up for myself, I sat there and tried to be strong. Tried not to think about needles going through my mother's lips pulling her face up into a grotesque imitation of a smile. Syringes filled with water plumping out her cheeks. For what? So that we can have an open casket? So that people can come and ogle her dead body? She's not fucking in there anymore. That's not her. I held her hand as she left....so what are you going to see? A corpse?

I'm supposed to stand up there next to a dead body...the dead body of my mother and read out psalms and obituaries and have a bunch of strangers come and hug me? The fuck? No.

I just want to skip out on the whole thing entirely, have her be buried, and then I'll actually have some place where I can go and sit and be quiet and be alone.

Wouldn't be surprised if people came out of the woodwork to say, "oh, let's go keep her company at the graveside each morning."

I really hate people.

And this one person in particular, who had the nerves to tell me that my mother asked her to look after me.

Ahem. Number one, you didn't speak to my mother for at least a month before she died.
Number two, my mother only spoke of getting well up until she went to sleep and couldn't wake up about four days before she died. So when would she have asked you to look after me in case she didn't make it? I know my mother. You don't. She would never have said that. So don't come up to me, lying barefacedly and try to give me hugs and kisses...NO. And I'm not going to call you if I need help, I'm not going to call you if I need to talk, because even if my mother had wanted you to look after me (a 27 year old with a bachelors degree and three jobs, who still has her father alive...yeah, I need looking after) you're not the person I would ever choose to confide in.

I can read people. I might make stupid decisions sometimes because I go AGAINST my better judgment, but I honestly can't think of a time where I have read a person wrong. So there. She just feels guilty and she's trying to make up for it by wiggling her way into my life. She can go and take care of her own kids, thank you very much, all of whom still need a mother since they're teenagers and below.

I can't believe it. I can't believe the audacity of people, and I can't believe my situation.

It all sucks, round about it all. I can't wait for it to be over.