...maybe that isn't the right title to start this off with... >.>;;
About two to maybe three weeks ago, I got a job selling kitchen cutlery. Not the job of choice I'll admit, but it pays really good and flashing knives around was kinda fun, especially when the customers loved the product. Now, these knives are really goog, being able to cut through almost anything. I had been working for a little more than a week when my mom whisked us all away to Seaside Heights for the Fourth of July, where we would stay with family friends. My mom usually helps with all the cooking and BBQ-ing, so she asked if she could borrow a few of the knives I had in my set (she loves the knives, but refuses to buy from me :/). "Sure why not." were my exact words, followed by a half-hearted shrug. She was usually stressed out these days and I didn't see the harm in bringing them, she promised to leave them in their case when she wasn't using them.
Thus we went, the beach was a blast, and it was also my aunt and my cousin's bday the day before (which was the same as my dad's, but he decided not to go with us, which stressed Mom out even more), so owner of the house bought a cake for the two of them. My godmother had heard that my mom brought the knives and was interested and asked if she could use them. I agreed, got the knife, and placed it in front of the cake.
Before I continue, I think I should explain how my sister is. She's thirteen, taller than me, bigger than me, and has that 'I don't give a shi--' attitude that drives my mom insane. She has no respect for anyone, chooses to dress as skimpily as possible despite that she's almost 200 lbs, and constantly complains about something (in this case, her cell being taken away).
Now, remember how I said I had laid the knife in front of the cake? My godmother was sitting right next to it, and as luck had it, so did my sister. I had absolutely forbidden that anyone else touched the knife--they knew just how good it was, and my aunt even commented that maybe it was too good. As we were just about to sing Happy Birthday, I reached over to the cake to take off the plastic cover. Right as I was doing that, my sister had snatched the knife. Noting it was gone, I looked to see it in her hand and saw she was waving it around. I went to snatch it and she missed me by a millimeter.
When I jerked my arm back, she decided to be funny and pretended to stab me, grabbing my arm and pretending to slice it. One of the pretend stabs became real. Thing is, she saw it in there and didn't even bother pulling it out, but laughed instead.
I've been cut with a knife before while cooking, but man...that shit HURT and went right through me. :/
After that fiasco, a couple days later we returned to my dad's house and my grandma noticed how my left arm was all bandaged up, and when my dad saw it he went ballistic, claiming that I had been cutting myself and such. When my sister admitted with a chuckle that it was she that had cut me, it only made things worse--my grandma screamed that she had no shame, my cousins went nuts and fled the scene, both my aunts had started yelling in spanish. Feeling that I hadn't the energy or the sanity to deal with the outburst, I retreated to my room and cuddled under my blanket with my Build-a-Bear.
A few hours later my dad stormed up the stairs and demanded that I quit my job. My sister was now angry and in a bad mood, and my mom was just yelling at everything that moved. So I locked the door and stayed in that room for a few days. I was already sick of the divorce and the fact that my mom was leaving me to go to her home in PR, so why did I have to deal with any more drama?
Once I emerged from my room, my mom ignored me and went inside, inspecting everything. The first thing she tells me is, "Your PS2 is cold. Why is it cold? Are you sick?"
There could be a lot fo reasons I could've picked: I already beat all my games, I needed new ones, the PS2 was broken, etc.,--but I picked the wrong one: "I didn't feel like playing."
I know it sounds weird, but I guess that's because I'm addicted to electronics. I mean really, I hadn't even looked at my laptop in weeks, so my mom knew something was wrong. There was, but rather then talk to me about it, she dragged me to a therapist's office.
Now, I've been to the same one a couple of years ago for a school field trip, and I already knew that woman was crazy. So I was very relactant to go, and when I was alone with that lady I wanted to run out.
"Now then, Ana-is." she says, pronouncing my name wrong like everyone else did. "What do you think of yourself?"
I laughed at her and replied, "I don't need to be here...so what if I'm a little crazy?"
Not the end. :/
Well, they say that sanity is based off the experiences that one has had in their life--their past. Yet there are people that call others crazy because of their actions--that is to say, the present.
So, what's your definition of crazy?
About two to maybe three weeks ago, I got a job selling kitchen cutlery. Not the job of choice I'll admit, but it pays really good and flashing knives around was kinda fun, especially when the customers loved the product. Now, these knives are really goog, being able to cut through almost anything. I had been working for a little more than a week when my mom whisked us all away to Seaside Heights for the Fourth of July, where we would stay with family friends. My mom usually helps with all the cooking and BBQ-ing, so she asked if she could borrow a few of the knives I had in my set (she loves the knives, but refuses to buy from me :/). "Sure why not." were my exact words, followed by a half-hearted shrug. She was usually stressed out these days and I didn't see the harm in bringing them, she promised to leave them in their case when she wasn't using them.
Thus we went, the beach was a blast, and it was also my aunt and my cousin's bday the day before (which was the same as my dad's, but he decided not to go with us, which stressed Mom out even more), so owner of the house bought a cake for the two of them. My godmother had heard that my mom brought the knives and was interested and asked if she could use them. I agreed, got the knife, and placed it in front of the cake.
Before I continue, I think I should explain how my sister is. She's thirteen, taller than me, bigger than me, and has that 'I don't give a shi--' attitude that drives my mom insane. She has no respect for anyone, chooses to dress as skimpily as possible despite that she's almost 200 lbs, and constantly complains about something (in this case, her cell being taken away).
Now, remember how I said I had laid the knife in front of the cake? My godmother was sitting right next to it, and as luck had it, so did my sister. I had absolutely forbidden that anyone else touched the knife--they knew just how good it was, and my aunt even commented that maybe it was too good. As we were just about to sing Happy Birthday, I reached over to the cake to take off the plastic cover. Right as I was doing that, my sister had snatched the knife. Noting it was gone, I looked to see it in her hand and saw she was waving it around. I went to snatch it and she missed me by a millimeter.
When I jerked my arm back, she decided to be funny and pretended to stab me, grabbing my arm and pretending to slice it. One of the pretend stabs became real. Thing is, she saw it in there and didn't even bother pulling it out, but laughed instead.
I've been cut with a knife before while cooking, but man...that shit HURT and went right through me. :/
After that fiasco, a couple days later we returned to my dad's house and my grandma noticed how my left arm was all bandaged up, and when my dad saw it he went ballistic, claiming that I had been cutting myself and such. When my sister admitted with a chuckle that it was she that had cut me, it only made things worse--my grandma screamed that she had no shame, my cousins went nuts and fled the scene, both my aunts had started yelling in spanish. Feeling that I hadn't the energy or the sanity to deal with the outburst, I retreated to my room and cuddled under my blanket with my Build-a-Bear.
A few hours later my dad stormed up the stairs and demanded that I quit my job. My sister was now angry and in a bad mood, and my mom was just yelling at everything that moved. So I locked the door and stayed in that room for a few days. I was already sick of the divorce and the fact that my mom was leaving me to go to her home in PR, so why did I have to deal with any more drama?
Once I emerged from my room, my mom ignored me and went inside, inspecting everything. The first thing she tells me is, "Your PS2 is cold. Why is it cold? Are you sick?"
There could be a lot fo reasons I could've picked: I already beat all my games, I needed new ones, the PS2 was broken, etc.,--but I picked the wrong one: "I didn't feel like playing."
I know it sounds weird, but I guess that's because I'm addicted to electronics. I mean really, I hadn't even looked at my laptop in weeks, so my mom knew something was wrong. There was, but rather then talk to me about it, she dragged me to a therapist's office.
Now, I've been to the same one a couple of years ago for a school field trip, and I already knew that woman was crazy. So I was very relactant to go, and when I was alone with that lady I wanted to run out.
"Now then, Ana-is." she says, pronouncing my name wrong like everyone else did. "What do you think of yourself?"
I laughed at her and replied, "I don't need to be here...so what if I'm a little crazy?"
Not the end. :/
Well, they say that sanity is based off the experiences that one has had in their life--their past. Yet there are people that call others crazy because of their actions--that is to say, the present.
So, what's your definition of crazy?
