News from the front

Today I hugged my mum.
She's so tiny!
Tiny and shorter than me and so thin.
It's not right.
How can I possibly rant about her complete lack of boundaries, rave about her opening bathroom and bedroom doors without knocking, complain about her not taking me seriously? How can I, people of blogland? How can I blame my mother for everything that's obviously wrong with me when she is so...small?
I just can't.

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This afternoon I saw my brother. We strolled around the city centre, running errands. A feeble attempt at bonding, but under separate umbrellas.
And then - then, he spat on the pavement.
I cringed, but kept my mouth shut.
Then he spat again. My blood instantly reached boiling point.
'Gross!' I exclaimed.
'I do what I want' was the sophisticated reply.
I could feel my idealized vision of him crumple into a messy heap, a little puddle of spit. What to do? Lecture him and risk damaging the already tenuous link that exists between us? Or swallow up my disgust and bourgeois disapproval? What argument besides 'No you bloody well don't' do you oppose to the infantile 'I do what I want'? Respect and manners and tuberculosis rushed to my mind; those, too easy to dismiss with a snigger, wouldn't have done any good. Better to just lose my shit and use anger - real and inflated for effect - to give my argument the weight it deserved.
No more spitting for the rest of the afternoon.

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Finally, daily existence is grim for me right now.
I was expecting blue skies, enthusiastically high temperatures and a hammock under the cherry tree, summer skirts and new flipflops, strawberries for breakfast and cold beer at sunset. Well that ain't happening, for the weather forecast is snow on the mountain I see from my bedroom window, and this morning I woke up to a deluge.
Finally, my internet connection is being rationed, hence this messy, straight-out-of-the-packet post. Sorry.