Seriously. You’d think Dad would be happy to see me. His only daughter. But no, all he tells me is how I’ve achieved nothing in life, and how other Doctors’ kids are all well-settled and I’m still so stupid and that I make him feel like a social pariah. Like, ugh.
I could have actually embarrassed Mum and him. I could have done drugs, or run away to Barabados with a British guy. I could have gotten preggers!
Sometimes it annoys the crap out of me. This whole thing that my parents do. Obviously, they’re parents and they have my best interests at heart, and I totally get it – and I am not criticizing my parents child-rearing methods but then I think they might have taken the term “child-rearing” a tad too figuratively.
Like, what am I? A bunch of tomatoes gone bad aka investment gone horribly wrong aka giant mistake aka produce with terrible market value? No siree.
I am a person. And I’m not just a stupid doctor, I am also this self taught semi-half-baked-artist-ish person that also sometimes writes okay fiction. Take a look at my artwork. Nothing great, but still.
Now, I know that I can’t draw anatomically perfect people. These are from 2013, the last time I’ve ever drawn stuff. Why did I stop drawing? My parents told me, and I quote and I kid you not, “Drawing isn’t gonna feed you, and it’s a waste of time. You should study 16 hours a day.”
Who the badooshes reads sixteen hours a day? If any of you do it, I need pointers. I’m gonna run for the hills guys, I swear, I’m so exhausted at this point.
And here I thought I could relax for one month. Ha bloody ha.