more frustrations

I never have this house to myself. If I wake up at 9:30 (which almost always means I won't get out of bed until 10:11) I only have an hour until my dad comes home from golf. He immediately sits down and begins watching Murder, She Wrote. Yesterday he was watching MSW until 5:30. I had no idea that show was in so much demand! It's friggin' ridiculous. I don't care if he's doing other things, like the crossword, at the same time; he's still watching TV all the damn day.

If you've lived with me, you know how much at stressful times I desire almost complete silence. The sounds of TV or music aggravate me beyond belief when I want to escape into myself and figure things out. You can be home, fool, but don't you dare interrupt my thoughts.

In a roomate situation, that's fixable. I can negotiate times of day I want silence and be understanding of times people want music or tv. This is not a roomate situation. My 'roomates' are a crabby, thinks-i-owe-him-constant-love-and-affection-in-repayment-for-tuition-and-clothing wino with a bad back and a penchant for the most inane tv shows imaginable (The Match Game, anyone?), and my dear sweet mother who just wants to know how my day was (and it is as it always is: a combination of practicing, sitting, blogging, mmmmaybe running some errands...) but can be awfully invasive about it. Me, I'm the other crabby roomate but I can be pleasant in a you-scratch-my-back-i'll-scratch-yours kind of way. I.e. turn off the damn tv until at least five pm please! There's nothing good on tv at 10:30 am! It's all stupid movies and bad anime cartoons and tv shows "designed" with stay-at-home wives in mind. Ala Murder, She Wrote. (although, props to smart chicks)

I'm going to die here. Not physically. Little pieces of my good humor and patience are going to slough off and fall away, and I'll never be able to regain them. I'll be a pissy old woman when I'm thirty. And Angela Lansbury's theme song will always be stuck in my head.