Of Writers

Yesterday my mom asked me, "How come you don't write any more?" and I said, "Because I don't have the time or personal space." She thought to disagree. Today was an early day at work, and while driving home I thought, "I should write for a few hours before everyone else gets home. It's a nice day, I'll sit outside with my notebook." Upon arriving home, I find mom home early because she was sick (but that still-functioning sick, not stuck-in-bed sick). I then am treated to a frequent passive-aggressive sigh while she's struggling with some sort of work stuff on the computer, and her moping because she won't be able to go to Sasha's birthday party. This sort of put me off writing, because how can I focus with that sort of energy around? Because she had to come home early, mom had taken Andrew's car, so when he got off work he had to take the train, meaning it was my job to pick him up at the station. Long story short, he kept calling me while I was driving, which I took to be impatience (reality: calling to tell me he was at a different station than usual). I was annoyed at his calls, then annoyed at myself when I had to turn around and drive to the other station, and annoyed because it was getting uncomfortably hot in the car. Mom had given me her card to buy Burger King on the way back for dinner--her "I'm sick and giving up" meal idea. The thought of ingesting fast food at this particular time was mildly repulsive to me, but as there are two other hungry people in the house, we went and got a mix of things for everyone. My dad was home by the time we got back, though he was also not feeling well and did not come down to eat right away. Just as I was finishing choking down a few chicken nuggets and getting ready to retire upstairs, he (dad) starts a typical conversation/argument with Andrew in his room (i.e. directly next to mine, i.e. something I would be forced to listen to.) So, mom, to answer your question..... Case rested and dismissed.