As some of you know, writing is my second love (first one is YELLOW CRAYON if that wasn't obvious enough). Well, here's my problem. My father has recently won a trip to a cruise and the week we're going is going to be the same week I have my first competition. Therefore, going on this cruise allows me to pretty much get kicked off my writing team.
I worked and stressed my goddamn ass off to get on this team.
But that's not my reason for writing this.
When I was discussing this with the man and woman who are so called "my supportive parents"... they, well, they were nothing but insignificant asses who's mouth filters are even worse than the filters on Retrica. (I personally hate the Retrica filters so that's why I said that.)
Here's how it went down:
My words: "The contest is gonna be that same week and I really want to go but like if it's that week I'm staying home."
Punta (bitch in Español I think): "But you didn't go to Washington with us!"
My brain reaction: DON'T TRY TO GUILT TRIP ME. FUCK OFF.
My words: "Yes, but I worked so hard to get on the team."
Punta: "You think that you're actually going to win?"
My brain: NIGGA WATCH ME GET FUCKING FIRST PLACE IMMA WALK UP TO YOU SAY HEY MOTHER WHAT'S GOOD
My words: "Um yes, cause I'm actually you know a good writer who's improved the quality of her pieces. That was kind of rude for you to say that."
Punta: "How was it rude?"
My brain: The same way your chest is flat. It just is bitch.
My words: *silence* *glares daggers into soul*
Then later they tell me this:
Punta: "Is this writing thing good for college?"
My brain: Why yes it's absolutely swell.
My words: "Yes."
Punta: "Writers only make $30,000 a year."
My words: "I've heard this story a million times now."
Punta: "So why would you choose this as a career?"
My brain: Be fucking happy I can write to save my life. Half the sluts in my school will probably end up be prostitutes or strippers. But you already know that I'm down with the medical field
My words: "Can I have a hobby?"
Punta: "Yes but hobbies get you nowhere. They can't be a career"
My brain: Tell me that when you don't play golf for half your years work hours.
My words: "But they can be happiness."
Punta: *silent*
My brain: Aww, cat got your tongue?
Anyways, yeah. I just hate that my parents don't really appreciate anything I do anymore. They see me as a bad kid nowadays. Whatever. For all I know, next year I might end up gettimg run over by a bus or even more realistic, killing myself!
That's it.
Bye munchkins. At least you guys support me.
