My Own Space
So, my sister moved out a couple of weeks ago. She moved to Atlanta to be closer to school. She bought new furniture, new bedding, new drapes, new books, and she has a new roommate to boot. Because the roommate was there first, Sis didn’t have to take her old living room furniture. And now that she has moved out, I get the entire upstairs to myself. Now we have rules for the upstairs, she says. It’s my fault for breaking her rules, but I don’t regret it! It’s my upstairs! She moved out, so she can’t say anything! Why, when something finally becomes mine, does she still get to be in control. I’m the youngest, so my entire life, everyone else has told me what to do. What to do, how to live, who to be. I am done with it. I’m just through! So, when someone tells me what to do, I go ahead and defy it. I’m finally old enough to speak for myself, to have a voice! I’m sixteen for goodness sakes! I’m finally an adult! And the first thing my sister does? She tells me what I can’t eat on my birthday, moves out that night, and says I can’t eat upstairs, in my own space. MY OWN SPACE!!! Who the hell does she think she is?? And it’s not like I can tell her off about it! Oh, no! Because her boyfriend is in Texas and he left TODAY to go back after the weekend. And she is so fragile because she misses him and she doesn’t know yet if he will want to stay together and he ruined their perfect weekend because he wanted to see some of his old friends. What the @#!!&**??????????? So, I am blogging so that I won’t blow up in her face. Because the last thing I can handle right now are her shallow tears. Damn… I still feel guilty.
