I'm laying naked in my bed at 3:18 on a sunny afternoon. The sun is creeping through the cracks in my blinds and I'm staring at a cork board above my bed that displays a collection of smiles and memories I've gathered the past few years. Pictures plastered against the brown surface show a little girl, smiling, holding her new kitten. Another shows a tired puppy huddled in a corner, it was his first night with us. Some of the pictures remind me of vacations that I took to visit old friends and make new memories. Postcard from around the world hang to remind me how lucky I am to have had the chance to visit those places. I sigh and roll out of bed, gazing at my clothes in my closet I snag some pajamas and put them on, I'm not going anywhere.
Earlier my mother had barged through our front door clutching to her purse, an exhausted look hints at her eyes.
"Have the dogs been out?" She says with a light New Jersey accent. I shake my head staring at my laptop hoping to God someone posts a new status on Facebook. I'm bored out of my mind. She starts yelling at me about towels or something and I start getting annoyed. Eventually she grabs something to eat and sits next to me, I tell her about a small argument I'm having with one of my friends.
"Well, I think you're in the wrong," she spits out bluntly.
I put up my defense systems and start making rude comments back. I shared something personal with her to get support, and here my mother is saying anything to prove her daughter's unworthiness to anyone. I feel like shit. She reminds me again about the dogs rising anxiety to urinate. Ignoring my brother who is more than eligible to walk them, she commands that I walk them. I tell her I'm taking a shower first, not only to win back control of the situation and to build my own self esteem, but I look like a mess. My green cami is now covered in dried milk and my hair is greasier than a new oiled car. I walk up the stairs as she threatens to turn them into a pound. Honestly, what pound would accept a ten year old and twelve year old dog who both have multiple problems. My mom is also unaware of the treatment pound dogs go through. Ignored for the majority of the day, dogs at the pound are lucky for a walk a day. At the SPCA where I volunteered, dogs received special treatment which entailed two walks and occasional play, if they're lucky. Our dogs are pampered with attention all day and are in a loving home. Dogs in pounds barely get noticed because everyone wants a puppy, these dogs wouldn't stand a chance.
I yell obscenities before I slam the bathroom door. In the shower I think about my great grandfather's funeral which I attended yesterday. I think about my own funeral and if my loved ones will regret these petty fights one day. I wonder if my old friends will look back on our friendship with regret. I get shampoo in my eyes and I feel like it's karma for being so self-centered. What about the regrets I'd have if they passed away suddenly? Would it be so important for me to get the last word? Would I regret not taking my dogs out the second my mom bothered me to?
I remember my cork board of memories and stare at it one more time. I feel as if all of this fighting is starting to really tear at my mom and my relationship. I stare at my phone and frown, I don't want to fight with my friend anymore.
Considering my options to keep my relationships in tack I look to the future. I don't want to be walked all over for the rest of my life, but putting up a fight against my loved ones is threatening our relationships. Why do I always have to be right? "Before you take the splinter out of my eye, take the plank out of yours," I try to analyze my own flaws. Although it's hard, I commit to allowing myself to be wrong sometimes. For the sake of friendship, you win, this time at least.
Earlier my mother had barged through our front door clutching to her purse, an exhausted look hints at her eyes.
"Have the dogs been out?" She says with a light New Jersey accent. I shake my head staring at my laptop hoping to God someone posts a new status on Facebook. I'm bored out of my mind. She starts yelling at me about towels or something and I start getting annoyed. Eventually she grabs something to eat and sits next to me, I tell her about a small argument I'm having with one of my friends.
"Well, I think you're in the wrong," she spits out bluntly.
I put up my defense systems and start making rude comments back. I shared something personal with her to get support, and here my mother is saying anything to prove her daughter's unworthiness to anyone. I feel like shit. She reminds me again about the dogs rising anxiety to urinate. Ignoring my brother who is more than eligible to walk them, she commands that I walk them. I tell her I'm taking a shower first, not only to win back control of the situation and to build my own self esteem, but I look like a mess. My green cami is now covered in dried milk and my hair is greasier than a new oiled car. I walk up the stairs as she threatens to turn them into a pound. Honestly, what pound would accept a ten year old and twelve year old dog who both have multiple problems. My mom is also unaware of the treatment pound dogs go through. Ignored for the majority of the day, dogs at the pound are lucky for a walk a day. At the SPCA where I volunteered, dogs received special treatment which entailed two walks and occasional play, if they're lucky. Our dogs are pampered with attention all day and are in a loving home. Dogs in pounds barely get noticed because everyone wants a puppy, these dogs wouldn't stand a chance.
I yell obscenities before I slam the bathroom door. In the shower I think about my great grandfather's funeral which I attended yesterday. I think about my own funeral and if my loved ones will regret these petty fights one day. I wonder if my old friends will look back on our friendship with regret. I get shampoo in my eyes and I feel like it's karma for being so self-centered. What about the regrets I'd have if they passed away suddenly? Would it be so important for me to get the last word? Would I regret not taking my dogs out the second my mom bothered me to?
I remember my cork board of memories and stare at it one more time. I feel as if all of this fighting is starting to really tear at my mom and my relationship. I stare at my phone and frown, I don't want to fight with my friend anymore.
Considering my options to keep my relationships in tack I look to the future. I don't want to be walked all over for the rest of my life, but putting up a fight against my loved ones is threatening our relationships. Why do I always have to be right? "Before you take the splinter out of my eye, take the plank out of yours," I try to analyze my own flaws. Although it's hard, I commit to allowing myself to be wrong sometimes. For the sake of friendship, you win, this time at least.
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