I'm on my midterm (or eh, "Reading Week") from God College at the moment and it occurs to me that summer is going to be boring. Very, very boring. My time off college had consisted of my usual weekend work in the shop, and cleaning my room. Yes, cleaning. I've had to rearrange my bookshelves again, after my parents went out and bought me a three-shelf Billy and two additional shelves to add in to my taller one, and the end result is that I have to get the books out of the bags they were in on my floor, rearrange everything according to size, so they all fit, and pretend I'm happy about having an hour's extra work on my shelves to do.
Have I done any writing? No. The energy and enthusiasm has been drained right out of me. I need something to do or I'm going to go mad. And I don't mean more hours in work - though the money would be good - because the work to do there isn't always great. I mean I have to find something active to do, or find the willpower and the necessary isolation from Mother of Mine so I can write something and maybe actually do something with my week off that doesn't conform to her standards of Regular Behaviour (i.e. cleaning the kitchen after everyone's mess, rearranging my shelves repeatedly, cleaning my desk even though I never use it anyway and waiting around for one of my uncles to collect a pot of stew).
I want to write. I want to write a book and edit another one, and do some reading for college and some reading for myself, and do my tutorial work, and get a chance to talk to my best friend properly. But no, none of that happens.
And this will be my summer, but instead of a week, it'll be three and a half months. I cannot take it anymore. It's only Tuesday and I'm bored out of my mind! I've only had one full day off since my "Reading Week" began and I can't stand it. I appreciate the time off, but it's not filled with anything worth while. It's just meaningless, unproductive task after meaningless, unproductive and soul-crushing task set by my parents. And it's going to be this way in the summer months, too, until they finally realise that I don't give a damn about what they want me to do, and that really I'm not very happy having to do it all, that they're sucking the life out of me and crushing my dreams, because they don't let me have the God-damned free will I ought to have!
I have got to get out of here. I have got to find something worth doing that can get me away from this mundane repetitiveness before I snap. It's already getting to me, and from here it'll just start getting to other people by proxy. And Mother of Mine says I didn't used to be this way? That's because I used to be allowed to make decisions for myself. Instead my parents say I'm not living in a hotel and I have to pull my weight. I didn't realise this was living. It's more autonomy than anything else, and the treatment isn't to hotel standards. They book their holidays and they go out and we get a list of chores that make up for what they don't do themselves. Sure, we eat the food that was made in the pots, but we didn't ask for it. And we're dragged away from whatever we're doing to clean up. We're not asked, we're told.
Three and a half months of this? I don't think so. I wouldn't last it, not a second time around. My brain would turn to mush. As a friend of mine says, "Lord please release me from this terrible burden..."