Like mother, like son.

My mother pisses me off no end. I love her, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't change the fact.
I look at my family and I would only be friends with Bev, Charlie and my gran if they were not family. I have a good family though, again, I'm not putting them down.
My mum has a habit of being insufferable. Too much wine and being determined to stay up for no reason and complaining about being tired. It makes me want to punch her in the face, again.
A quick example, she just came in the room and the news was on and of course it was on about the wake of the election and she had heard none of it and came in saying: "you can't do that".
These days I don't stay quiet so I asked her what they can't do, and a stumble of words fell out her mouth.
She'll get pissed of adverts for no reason at all.
Come in and watch the end of a film I'm watching and decide she knows everything about it.
The day I was calling the Angel of the North shit, as you do, and she was defending it. Yesterday I was again saying how shit it is and she agreed with me. I pointed out this sudden change and once again she attempted a link between her different views.
But I do love her, not because I have to, because I do. She's not really a friend, and no way near a confident. I've opened up to her a few times and it was nice but I'm capable of sorting out my emotions on my own.
And all this said, I see so much of my mother in me. In my mannerisms and faults.
I'll form opinions, and argue them on little to no evidence.
I'll get pissed of at the tv but continue to watch it, though I like to think I watch more thought provoking things about the bad in the world, rather than a show about children's beauty pageants.
There is a whole list of things as I've been listing them in my head the past few days but now my head and belly are full of beer.
You get the jist though, she pisses me off but I'm just the same making me one great big hypocrite. I don't care though because I can see it and admit it.
Now with all this said and done I can't wait until I leave. I've been wanting it for years now. I feel like too much of an individual to be living with a family.
The job of bringing me up is long done and now I feel more claustrophobic than anything. I am grateful of everything, I must stress this.
All this truthsome talk must be because I finished the Diary of Anne Frank. I felt myself tearing up in the canteen. Her penultimate entry started with her talking of hope because of the invasion and possible liberation. It was heart wrenching that it just stopped, no indication of impending death, just stopped. Like Che's journal, he was talking with good spirits one day, and nothing was ever said again.
Now I've gone and made myself upset.