Cold Coffee

So this morning, as I was perusing through blogs when I should probably be studying for finals, I somehow sat around long enough to let my coffee get cold. There wasn't a lot left in the cup, but it really bothered me.

Coffee is my pride and joy. I can make a mean cup o'jo. I like it simple, a little bit of cream, a little bit of sugar, none of this "Skinny, vanilla latte with three pumps instead of four, extra hot with extra maple syrup" nonsense. For me, despite how many times I've been in there, going to a Starbucks is like stepping into another world. A world where they speak a language that I could never understand. I hate making a scene, and I hate being a bother, so I would never actually ask what's in my coffee and how I can make it better to suit my own personal taste. Plus it's always so busy in there that there's no way I could actually do that.

The other reason my coffee went cold?

No, it's not that I'm sitting in my dad's cool (as in the temperature) office that used to be a porch, but is now closed in with no insulation and a giant picture window. It's because of my mom. I swear to god, that woman drives me insane. Yes, I love her to death, and I totally would dive in front of a bullet to save her just as she would do for me, but I can never just have a normal conversation with her without it turning into a lecture. Usually those lectures are about my bad behavior, or lack of work ethic, or my spending habits. But no matter what, she somehow never fails to turn a good moment in my day into a horrible one. And it's not even that she's mad at me, or lecturing me, it's that she's disappointed in me. Which is the worst thing in the world. I can handle her being mad; I can handle us not talking; I can handle a lot of things when it comes to her, but I've never, ever been able to handle her disappointment. It just makes me feel like such a horrible person. Like no matter what I do, it's never enough. And that doesn't help a teenage girl's self esteem. Mine is low enough as it is without her harping on me.

She's probably right. My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I just did what she told me to do. And I do try. On a daily basis I do try to do what she has told me to do in the past. But all I want to do is forget about her constant lecturing. So it all goes out the window. It doesn't help that I have horrible short term memory.

And I HATE asking her or my dad for anything. So instead I'll wait until the last minute when it's an even bigger inconvenience. But I don't think they realize, that really? I know all along that I said I would bring in bagels for the last day of classes, but instead of asking at four when it would have been a minor inconvenience for multiple people, I wait until nine when it's a major inconvenience for only one person. Everything I do, is based upon what I think my parents' reaction will be. Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I get it wrong.

They wonder why I am the way that I am. I don't think they realize, that I am this way because of them. There are no other explanations. Yes, I am my own person, but they influence me more then they will ever realize.