rude

Do people know that they're being rude? When you're checking them out and ringing up their items and they get angry at you for not knowing prices or are standoffish and just /exude/ this angry essence like do they know that you hate them and want to cry?
asking for a friend

mm

Whenever my dad is in the same room as me (or anyone) he can't just sit there and do his own thing. He can't just do whatever he's doing on his laptop, he can't just watch television, he can't just sit somewhere- he has to talk. My sister and I will be watching a show and he'll come in and start talking to us even though we are clearly busy (and then get upset when we pause it to actually listen which is silly). If I'm on my computer and he's on his he makes all of these off handed comments, and if you don't respond to them he gets upset. 

He doesn't' understand just sitting somewhere and existing, he has to be /doing/. He has to be the center of attention and busy and doing the most work and the most important things and I wish he'd just let things be.

Just let us be.

In other news

I am not content I am subdued.

I am not warm I am sweaty and too hot.

Uncomfortable.

I may be awake but I am so, so tired.

I am not ready to deal with the day but I will be forced to.

I have been up since five- I did not go to bed nearly early enough for this.

I have to do adult things and make adult decisions but I still want to sit in my moms lap. To hold her hand, for her to rub my back and take me to appointments and not leave me alone and tell me whats right and what's wrong because the world is so grey that it's hard sometimes to know what to do.

I want to know how to love and what love is.

I want to know what it's like when you're 'in love' I want to know if anyone will ever feel that way about me and if I'll ever feel that way about anyone else.

I want to talk to people.

I don't want to talk to people.

I don't want to grow up.

I don't want to work.

I don't want to feel.

I don't want to cry.

I don't want to think.

Reading

Sometimes emotions are too much for me. Other times I feel as though I have a lack of emotions all together- I'm not feeling enough.

So I read.

I read sad things, things about characters with anxiety and panic attacks, about people loosing loved ones and how they're forced to deal with that. It makes my gut twist and my face hot and my eyes wet and it's hard but it's okay because it's not mine. When it's all well and done I can put the story down and return to my life. Sometimes I need to feel, others I need to escape.

But when I read something and I'm so invested and my stomach is tight and the sheets are too hot and I can't rip my eyes away till it's done, and I finally reach the end- satisfying hopefully. (with a happy end because why don't we pretend to be optimistic for a time) When I put it down and I'm still too tense, still too on the verge of tears and I realize the emotions were too close to my own. I've come back to reality and I can't just set the emotions aside because this time- they're real. It's too sudden. It makes everything drop and shift and then you realize you're still a mess. You didn't fix anything you just ran and hid. And what good does that do?

It doesn't.

It doesn't do anything for you.

And then I lay in bed still too hot but too upset to really move. And it's terrible. I can't go deal with my problems, they're just too much for me.

But when I read- when I read when it becomes too much I can close my eyes and put the book down. I can let my heart calm and read again when I'm ready- or never again if that be the case.
But I can't do that with my life. I can't just set things aside and ignore them when I can't deal with what the world is saying to me. Even though I do.

And sometimes it's just too much. So I curl up with something short, something filled with emotion to mask my own.

And I read.