Failed Experiment 6/24/2001
Wow...time flies...It seems like I only wrote my last entry a day or two ago. I know I can't let two or three weeks pass between entries because I'll never go back to writing again. It's like art; I'm so afraid that if I don't paint at least every few weeks, I'll just put it off forever, like my grandfather did. Anyway...
I tried an experiment and it failed. I hate being in bad moods, so I figured maybe if I didn't write down that I was in a bad mood, it would go away. (Hey, it made sense when I first came up with the idea). Needless to say, my experiment failed. Most of my bad mood is due to Becca. Have you ever loved and detested someone? That's how I feel about my sister. I would take a bullet for her and I would be crushed if something bad ever happened to her, but I can't stand to be around her. Does that make sense? Probably not. She's so perfect and cruel I just want to cry sometimes.
She always has to be better than me. She got into Binghamton, an excellent public school, and I got into Syracuse, an excellent private school. When I got into my school, she told my brother John, "Syracuse is ok, but Binghamton has a much better reputation." Or when my brother John mentioned that he wanted to go into law, my mother said, "Well, Syracuse has a very good six-year accelerated law program." My sister replied, "Well, John, you should come to Binghamton for law. We have a 90% acceptance rate into law school." Or when I told her that I was going to Fairfax, Virginia for the National Student Leadership Conference, my sister said, "Well, Kyle is taking me to Jamaica for an all-expenses-paid vacation." I think Kyle's starting salary is nearing $60,000. It's not what Becca says, it's how she says it. She has this impeccable ability to always make me, my school, and my accomplishments seem inferior. She always has to be one step better than me.
And another thing; she always has to be right. I asked her yesterday, "How does it feel to be right all of the time? Does it get boring after awhile?" I mean, no matter what I say, I'm wrong. We could be talking about biology, my best subject and Rachel's worst, and she'd still be right no matter what she said. It's very irritating.
Becca can also be as cruel as hell. Becca is almost 21 and stil hasn't gotten her license. She failed twice. The first time she failed it wasn't technically her fault. She had a very strict grader. The second time was a disaster though. She almost hit a couple of parked cars. Anyway, so Becca was driving me, John, Jake, and my mother to the grocery store yesterday. She wasn't doing that good. She was doing thirty, which isn't fast, but in our neighborhood that happens to be filled with little kids, it is way too fast to control a car if a little kid goes out into the middle of the street. How Becca didn't hit a kid is amazing. Anyway, John and Jake were laughing at Becca, which wasn't helping matters. Becca kept saying things about us like, "They're so [expletive] immature! I'm not [expletive] doing this again! This is [expletive] ridiculous!" (Jake learned a lot of new words that day). She swore to me later that she wasn't mad at me, just the boys. Which is fine, but then she'd go and say things like, "I only have to deal with you people for another three hours and then I'm out of here." (She went to a party that night). Or, a few days ago, she said that she needed bathing suits. She has three, but they were all in the wash or something. So I offered to let her borrow one of mine. She looks at me and says, "Would I fit into your bathing suits?" It's not what she said, it the way she said it. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm bigger than Becca, but not by that much. I'm three inches taller and thirteen pounds heavier. I have chunkier legs and thighs, but she has a bigger belly. Generally, though, she can fit into my stuff, and vice versa. It's little comments like that that really hurt me. Once, I was trying on an outfit in front of one of her mirrors, and she comes up to me and says, "Artist, with all of your complaining, you don't have that bad of a body...you just have big hips." She always makes me feel fat and stupid. And I'm not supposed to get pissed at this? She says the rudest things in the world, and then expects me to not get mad. To make things even more ironic, she wanted to borrow my clothes for this party. (Gee, Bec, I thought I was too fat...?) It's like she's only nice to me when she needs something.
I feel so ridiculous complaining about these things. People have to worry about alcolic parents, or paying for college, for dealing with depressions and I'm complaining about my sister. Writing really didn't make me feel better...Grrr. I hate bad moods.
(To be continued)
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