My Mumbling Thoughts

A week an a half. Well, basically two weeks. Two weeks of me existing in my house. Occasionally I'll go outside for a fag, but otherwise I never leave. I stay inside, all the time, doing absolutely nothing.

Well, that's not true. I do do things. They're just not interesting in the slightest and I only do them to make it seem like I'm being productive when really I'm a lazy git who can't be bothered to be a full human being. It seems like the only thing that I do use is my mind. My imagination. My brain that is working overtime. Not on anything that actually matters and would benefit me in any way shape or form, just random, passing thoughts that cloud my eyesight and send me off into a daze.

Having so much time on my hands with nothing pressing to do during the day, allows me to wander about the townhouse, partially guilt-free and reflect. Lots of reflecting has been going on. And when I'm not reflecting, I'm watching reality TV that distracts me from all of the thinking. All of the reflecting.

My mother and I still aren't speaking. Not only are we not speaking, we haven't even seen each other ever since I've been back. I know, how crazy is that? It's easy, obviously when she's not here. I can prance about, rummage through the kitchen and blast music as if the townhouse was my own place that I paid the mortgage on. But when she's at home, we're both normally holed up in our separate rooms with the doors shut. I won't lie though...I'm scared to leave my room when she's at home because I'm afraid of bumping into her.

It shouldn't be like this.

We have to talk, I know that has to be done. I don't want to, and I'm not sure why. I'm afraid I'll just end up arguing with her and that'll be that. She has every right to throw me out on the street, lock the door and shout a very angry "fuck you" at me and I can't say anything. Being over the age of eighteen does have it's downsides I guess. Part of me is slightly scared since Momma is a very intimidating presence, and the rest of me basically doesn't care. I don't like admiting that either because it makes me sound like a horrible, ungrateful daughter that doesn't give two shits about their own mom, which is absolutely not true. I just don't like acknowledging the fact that I think she's acting like a four-year-old...as am I, but we don't have to get into that.

So I think about that. I wonder how long this will go on. I wonder who will cave first and end up gently knocking on the other person's door to sit down and eventually have That Chat that I'm waiting/expecting to happen.

But when I'm not thinking about that, I think about other things. I reflect on this past year at uni and wonder how I've benefited from it. How I've changed from it. What I did. Who I hurt. Who hurt me. The people I've met and all of the laughs we've shared. The tears. All of the fucking tears. The endless days and nights spent in the flat and all of the time we wasted but didn't seem like a waste because we were all together still having a good time. And where do I go from here?

Coming back home and knowing that I'm going to be here for a good while this time around has been an odd transition for me, especially with the whole weird Momma Situation I've got going on. I like it and I don't at the same time. I've got way too much time on my hands to sit and play with and after a while, my thoughts tend to get carried away and I feel like I may be going mental. The thing that gets me is that I have things I could be doing. I know what I should be doing, but instead I distract myself by making a meal that's far too big for myself, watching bad daytime TV or the one thing that has taken over most of my days; sit on facebook until I've almost gone blind.

Yeah. I'm a facebook whore. And it disgusts me.

I think about writing. I want to start writing more regularly, but I'm even finding that to be too difficult for me. I'm not sure why I'm so lethargic about my days but I really wish it'd go away. Perhaps when my job calls me back. I have called them, by the way, so they do know that I'm back. I'm not just sitting at home willing them to call me.

I know it's my own fault, but I'm already feeling like I'm slowly dying inside my room. I'll get up and get out soon though. I have to, because cabin fever is beginning to set in and I'll eventually kick myself out before too long. If not then I'm sure you'll be reading stories of all of my new imaginary friends who have taken over my brain and talk about all of the pretty butterflies and rainbows that are inside my room.