I realise now that an evening with my family makes me want to die. Really and truthfully.
Tonight was my brothers birthday. Conversations I’d like not to have had…
Mum: he had a date with the girl from the funeral*
Brother: she had a fat arse…nice lass… I had her up against the wall.
*yes it was only me who had a problem with the date/funeral situation.
Mum: I’d never take antidepressants everything I feel is real..
Brother: the music you played as a teenager gave me nightmares
Me: the things you say about women make me want to hide under the bed and never come out…
Me: (describing an experience in a coffee shop)…when I went to pay the waitress said a man had taken care of our bill and left. It was hugely romantic (coffee and truffles) he hadn’t left a name or card..
Brother: you’re married for christ sake I don’t know how your husband puts up with you*
*is it really my fault if people chat me up? I didn’t speak to him or meet his eye or fuck him on the table. I hate that it’s hard to go out in the world without these encounters.
Tags: diary, feminism, My car crash of a life
