At home there is some peace. The parents-in-law just left on a cruise with the rest of the family. The dog is in boarding, thank God. No one bothers to clean spills immediately here, they leave them for a while hoping the dog will do it. I can't bear leaving shit on the floor. Last Tuesday i dropped some carrots i'd just diced, bent down to clean them up and got bitten on the forearm for my efforts. Like the spoiled little motherfucker would eat them anyway. It was just another reminder of how i'm not in my house. I started searching the place, looking through one overflowing medical cupboard after the next and not one of them has an antiseptic. And i knew it was nothing, that i could just use some soap, but the depression and frustration took over and i got so angry because what the fuck, i can't even look after myself when i get injured here! I'm in this disorganized chaos of a house of leaves. They're out of town and i feel like i'm in one of Saddam's palaces in April 2003 after the bombs fell.
The other day i watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona with the family and it was beautiful and funny and sad and happy too... And afterward i'm hearing the "wow what a messed up relationship" la la la and no doubt that's kinda the point, but there's good parts too, and i can't even fucking speak up and say anything about it because like, that's too left field or something. You know, i never truly understood movies like American Beauty till i moved here, because this is exactly the culture those movies are about. This fucked up middle-class suburban shit that makes everything twice as fucked up as it actually is because no one ever fucking talks about anything real. It's all about keeping up appearances, about giving the impression everything is right and everyone is affluent and successful and educated and organized and nothing is out of place. It's another world, and you get sucked into it and you stop talking too. No wonder it all just builds up till it explodes. I don't feel safe here.