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shamanicshaymin) wrote2014-06-21 07:53 pm
shamanicshaymin) wrote2014-06-21 07:53 pm
Tired of being your fucking Job.
You just keep throwing the punches, don't you, karma?
I heard a loud squawking from the chickens today, and assumed something startled them out of their pen again. Later, my brother comes home from having dinner with a friend, and I hear him wail in complete despair. Again, I assumed nothing was wrong. But then Mom comes in and tells me the chickens have been attacked, and one of them was "laying in pieces." Thankfully, the scene wasn't as gory as she made it sound; the "pieces" she referred to were the feathers and the full body of the chicken lying there with a broken neck as ants crawled over her. I didn't want to be rude to Mom and tell her she was making me uncomfortable, hovering me over like that while I looked at the dead chicken and the two still alive. And what really makes me angry is that her whole attitude toward this was a casual "We should send the rest of the chickens to a barn. They shouldn't be here in the backyard." Mom never liked the chickens, and never even bothered to give them a chance to warm up to her, and dismisses their eggs as "not as good" as the store-bought ones. She wanted them gone even though Dad and I and my brother loved them and took good care of them (especially the latter; he feeds the chickens and gives them water every day, so he's developed a closer bond to them than I have). So her whole reaction feels like a big "I told you so" and so goddamn callous.
My brother and I are going to bury the chicken when Dad wakes up. Why the hell didn't I go outside to see what was wrong rather than keep dawdling uselessly at the computer?
I heard a loud squawking from the chickens today, and assumed something startled them out of their pen again. Later, my brother comes home from having dinner with a friend, and I hear him wail in complete despair. Again, I assumed nothing was wrong. But then Mom comes in and tells me the chickens have been attacked, and one of them was "laying in pieces." Thankfully, the scene wasn't as gory as she made it sound; the "pieces" she referred to were the feathers and the full body of the chicken lying there with a broken neck as ants crawled over her. I didn't want to be rude to Mom and tell her she was making me uncomfortable, hovering me over like that while I looked at the dead chicken and the two still alive. And what really makes me angry is that her whole attitude toward this was a casual "We should send the rest of the chickens to a barn. They shouldn't be here in the backyard." Mom never liked the chickens, and never even bothered to give them a chance to warm up to her, and dismisses their eggs as "not as good" as the store-bought ones. She wanted them gone even though Dad and I and my brother loved them and took good care of them (especially the latter; he feeds the chickens and gives them water every day, so he's developed a closer bond to them than I have). So her whole reaction feels like a big "I told you so" and so goddamn callous.
My brother and I are going to bury the chicken when Dad wakes up. Why the hell didn't I go outside to see what was wrong rather than keep dawdling uselessly at the computer?