August 21, 2003
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So, still no dreams that make any sense. I hate it when I’m too tired to remember my dreams properly. Everything’s all fuzzy/dim, and I only remember disconnected bits. I know I dreamed last night, but all I remember was someone attacking me magically and trying to steal my energy. Somehow I reversed it, and it all came flying back to me in the form of two largish squares that came looping back to attach themselves to my temples. Very odd, and very not fashionable. heh
I got home from work at five and everyone was already eating dinner. My mother bought chicken at a nearby store.
For the record, I’m a vegetarian. If I didn’t live with my family, I probably wouldn’t even eat the little meat that I do ingest. I only eat some chicken and fish. What I do eat, must be Free Range or Raised Right, or I won’t touch it.
My mother knows this, knew I wouldn’t eat it, but still made it assuming I would. Then she sits and pouts because I won’t touch it. So I ate the mashed potatoes, an ear of corn, a roll, and made myself some peas.
Everything was fine until my mom’s b-friend had to open his big mouth to bludgeon me with his overbearing opinions. He used to work in a slaughterhouse, and he still eats meat, so obviously I should too. It’s all so clear now. It doesn’t matter if the animals have a nervous system and can feel pain just like us. It doesn’t matter that animals are capable of emotional responses (not instinct) and even some thought. Hey, I don’t care if they don’t think exactly like humanity. There’s enough humans in the world, we don’t need animals thinking and acting like us too. That’d be the fast track to world destruction, thankyouverymuch. Humanity sucks… let me come back as a tree in my next life.
Then my brother had to chime in on how he likes his meat tortured because the adrenaline makes it taste so much better. Blech. Hey kid, go eat some roadkill, why don’t you.
It’s not like I’m trying to make them into vegetarians. That’d be pretty near impossible with the carnivores in my house. But at least they could respect my choices, or act like they do.
I was pretty much almost vegan for a few months one year, but my mom was constantly whining that she couldn’t cook for me any more. Not that she ever cooks so much any way. Usually they ask me what I’m making when I get home from work or I ask them what they want me to make. I’m an excellent cook, if I do say so myself, and they know it, so they usually wait till I get home to eat. I like to cook too, especially since we got the dishwasher.
