Mother’s Day

This has become a day that I prefer to ignore in the hope that it won’t make me sad. Today I had no choice. My sister and I had decided to go to the home where we grew up, in order to finish packing things up that were my Mother’s.

Little did we know that my Father’s new woman (along with her own mother) had been there some weeks before us and had cleaned the house out. Cupboards were now bare, belongings gone, who knows where to. I felt robbed and cheated. I salvaged what little I could and left. Not wanting to be there anymore. Now I just feel empty. I’m not even sure that there was anything there that I may have wanted, but it was not someone elses place to do what has been done.

Also, my Father had his will next to his bed. My sister and I have been willed the 2/3 share of his new house and NOTHING else. Nothing. No assets, monies anything. We won’t even get the share of the house if he goes first, she gets to live in it, do whatever with it, until she either decides to move or she dies, whichever comes first.

My Mother would never have done something like this. Family comes first. Always.

Not anymore.

Last night I went with Katie to see Pean, the band I used to go and see at least once a week a few years back. It was nice to see the boys again, but it made me realise why I don’t do it anymore. I can’t stand those drunk idiots. Those skanky girls that are trying so hard to pick up. The leering looks you get from the guys or the catty looks from the women. You just don’t get that in the dance scene, no one cares what you look like.

Martin’s parents arrived at 4.30am this morning. I haven’t seen them yet, plenty of time for that, they’re here for 3 months. I don’t think I would be good company anyway. I’m feeling rather morose.


~ by Fen on May 9, 2004.

Leave a Comment For Me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: