It’s almost the end of March. I still have not spoken to my mother after
that run-in with my brother. She is,
apparently, mad at ME. I don’t know what I did wrong, but apparently it was bad
enough for her to not call me on Christmas, see me in person at a cousins
wedding and avoid me like the plague, not call me on my THIRTIETH birthday
(that’s right, I’m no longer in my twenties, YIKES!!!) but sent me a measly
text that said, “happy dirty thirty. If
it matters, Scott says happy birthday too.”
No I love you or anything.
No I love you or anything.
She also informed my Grandma that she doesn't have time for me anymore because she's too busy focusing on her grandson.
I think that’s when I decided that 30% of the reason I don’t
want kids is because I don’t want to turn into a shitty parent like one of the
ones that brought me into this world.
That and because I just don’t want to ruin my life.
