Here's my New Years resolution, for my diary at least: No more vague teenage angst-eque rambling. I'm not young enough to use that as an excuse for my behaviour anymore. I'm sure that I've said something similar somewhere in my diary at least once, if not more.

In my day to day life, I can be a pretty quiet person, depending on my comfort level with those I'm around. Home is a different matter however. I don't really have anything to say. I know this is also something I've talked about before, but it's not that I hate my parents and am giving them the silent treatment, it's that I just don't have that much to say. This holds true especially with my father. My father likes to talk. We'll be in the car and throughout the whole ride not a whole minute goes by where he doesn't say something, no matter how insignificant. And everything he says is followed by a series of "Eh?"s, which are in a tone that just demanding any kind of response from me. It's not even questions that you typically ask people, like "How was work?" or "How was school?" It's those thoughts that you think, but never speak out loud. Like "Wow my socks are really itching me.", "I'm wearing this coat because I gave my other coat to the cleaners. They were going to close at 5, and I knew I had to pick you up at 4:30, so I decided to leave the house earlier to get to the cleaners and here on time. Eh?" me: ....mmhmm

him: "Eh??..Eh?? Okay??"

me: Yes! Why are you even telling me this in the first place???

him: Heeey, don't get upset with me, I was just telling you because if I had showed up late you would have asked me where I was, and I was just letting you know why.

me: But you weren't late, and it's your coat, I don't really care what happens to your coat..Clean it..don't clean it..I don't care.

him: Ohhhh, don't say "don't care" like that, it's not nice. Do I ever say "don't care" to you? No, because I would care if the situation had been reversed.

me: But I would never have told you a big long story about my coat and the dry cleaners, because there was no point to the whole story in the first place. You weren't late, and I didn't notice (or care) that you were wearing a different coat.

This is how our conversations go from the moment I get into the car, until the moment we pull into the driveway. I think my father secretly likes these little arguments, even though sometimes I, admittedly, get snarky with him. I like to think of it as a little game that he and I play, he knows I don't have much to say, so he says stuff forces me to respond to what he says with his countless "Eh"s, because he knows it bothers me when he keeps saying it over and over again. My father can be charming to outsiders, but I live with him, I know how sly he can be.

My mother however is a different story, I'm a lot like her. She doesn't find it necessary to fill her days needing to talk to anyone. She's content doing stuff on her own, like reading, or writing, or studying. She doesn't need interaction with people as much as my father does. Which is why, I think, the conversations we have are *real* conversations, with topics and purposes. Not just little stories about overcoats, and itchy socks. I like to think of my mom as "the thinker", and my dad as "the business man", because that's what they do in their daily lives.

You could write a sitcom about my family. You really could. Remember that old tv show that Billy Crystal was in? Soap? It had the lady that played Mona, the grandmother, on Who's the Boss, and Billy Crystal's character was gay, and someone had been murdered and the murderer was someone in one of the two families that the plot encircled.

Benson was also in it, and there was the guy that would talk through his wooden dummy, and I don't think he really ever spoke until the last episode. Well, that's my family, minus the murder part. My dad could be Mona (I don't remember her characters' name from Soap), she was a bit of a nutter, and so is my dad, saying the most ridiculous things every few minutes. Although I don't think my father would look as good in a red sequined dress. My brother is the guy with the wooden puppet, because they both don't know how to express themselves. My mom is Benson. I like to think of myself as the narrator. "Tune in tomorrow night...will 'Mona' ever figure out which coat she gave to the dry cleaners? Will Jaime (the name I'll give the puppet guy because I can't remember his name either) ever get a grip on reality? And will Benson ever realize that his best job will be working for the President? These story lines..and myself will be back! Same Soapy channel..same Soapy time!"

Ehh?

Eh?

Eh?

Ehhh??

Hey...ehh?

Did you hear?? Eh?

Eh?

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then / after