Today was a long day.
At school by 930, which means we have to leave by 900, which means I have to be up before 730. Study and stuff (okay, mostly I revised a story) until 1045, when I walk up to A&P at 1100. That went till about 115, and included a lot of microscopy and our first actual experience with the cadaver.
Aside: So, when I say "cadaver," is it just me, or do you assume that it's going to be a pathological specimen? You know: he just checked out ("just scraped off the road," said one of my lab partners). Yeah, not so much. This guy died of cancer about a year ago, he's been dissected like crazy, and he resembles a mummy (at least, the parts of him that are left). I can't say I'm disappointed, exactly, just surprised. Oh, and apparently we need a class name for him, so any suggestions?
Back to the day. After A&P I went to go see Chembledore, as I wanted to see what I achieved on my final exam. Now, this bad boy was a standardized test, the exam of the American Chemical Society, which evidently no one passes (I had statistics, but I'm too tired to look now. Maybe later). He told me last night that I did well, but I wanted to know. Evidently I got 49 out of a possible 70, which translates to an 88% on the curve the test was on, if that tells you anything about its difficulty. (I also made a lot of stupid mistakes.) An 88% isn't that great - I thought I knew more than that - but I also received perfect scores on the last true exam and the lab exam, which is quite nice.
Biology at 200. Lots more microscopy, and my eyes were ready to take a yearlong nap. We go straight through till 445, and I was quite ready to be done at the end (microevolution is the topic of choice at the moment - evolution of small populations). Nope! I went down to tutor, my first day back, and I was looking forward to a quiet day. Didn't happen. Evidently word's out that I can tutor biology now and I was booked until we closed at 800. Right, I'm tired, so what am I going to do? Go to Sadie's for her housewarming party, yes? So I got home around 1000 'cause I really am fairly tired. And what do I find? I get a four-page passive-aggressive note from the father telling me my showers take too long. Of all things. And now is a good time as any to record in journal form that the parents are splitting up, and I'm too much a child of the nineties to think that "trial separation" can mean anything good. Of course, since this is my emotionally-repressed family we're talking about, things will be business-as-normal up to and until someone moves out, at which point it'll be business-as-the-new-normal! Plus the passive-aggressive notes and whatever else nastiness comes up, probably, 'cause god knows you can blame all your problems on your kids.
Okay, I wasn't going to rant about this, but it's been pissing me off for a while. We finally had the big family meeting sit-down several days ago about the parents giving up, and they both made very sure to stress that this is not happening because of the children! And then the father goes on to say that the long and short of it is that while they were raising us, they kind of had to put their own lives on hold, and that's probably what hurt them most and drove them apart. Okay, say it with me, in bold italics: What the fuck? How is that not blaming the children? He blatantly told us that giving us their attention is the reason their marriage failed! Out of respect for the brothers, who are sometimes pains-in-the-asses but are otherwise fairly brittle, IMO, I didn't say anything then, but, boy, did I want to. I was sitting next to my youngest brother and watching him during all of this, and I just kept thinking, "Jesus, you're going to be telling all this shit to your therapist in thirty years."
Annnnnyway. There's my big, sad news, which has gotten me to thinking about lasting relationships and all, and I've realized that my family has royally fucked up in that direction. Cases-in-point:
Every one of my mom's sisters (three) have divorced, most more than once.
My dad's brother has divorced multiple times, and his sister has basically excommunicated herself (she straight up told my grandmother that she wished that she'd died instead of my grandfather).
My dad's parents: mentioned grandfather has been dead since the early eighties, and the grandmother has freely admitted she wished that she'd gone to college and/or continued her career and not gotten married when she did.
My mom's parents were apparently only together because my grandfather on that side was gay and needed a lady.
So, let's see. My test pool is nine couples, and my results indicate maybe 0.5 - 1 of those worked out in the long term (and I'm being generous here).
What can we learn? How about: Who the fuck are you marriage elitists to say that gay people can't get married? (for one) also: Don't fuck your lives over and expect your kids to deal with it, assholes. (plus) Don't fuck your lives over and then blame your kids for it or take it out on them! Fuckers. Dirty fuckers, all of them.
Ah, using a blog to rant. I feel like I've returned to my roots.
On a happier note, I received a note yesterday that said that one of my stories had been accepted for publication in a magazine out of Philly. Details to follow, but for now they want an author bio. Friends, you know me: Help?
