The new and the old.

Three days ago I finally got a new car. I traded in my '94 ford taurus that had been passed down through three generations via inheiritance and bore a big dent on the left side of the rear bumber and a failing transmission for a whopping $250. Not too bad for a twelve year old ford POS. I got my new car and relinquished my old one to carmax, the salesman was a very pleasant personable man with an unpronoucible surname. He even acknowledged the fact that it must be hard for me to trade in a car that had been in my family, I replied that I had kept it as long as I could. Cars aren't things you can keep for sentimental value. My new car is lovely silver '97 Honda Civic, it has a very nice little aftermarket stereo however I must return to have the disc changer fixed because it doesn't work. I'm trying to get used to it's lack of quirks and actual posession of the power a car is supposed to have.
My job still sucks, yesterday three people called out sick, or having car trouble, or didn't call at all and I had to stay on for a nine hour shift. If you're not willing to work than fucking quit and save the rest of us who actually give a crap some trouble. *growl* I really don't make enough money for the work I do, and doubly so if you consider the effort, care, and knowledge I put in every day. I'm not breaking even, and it will get worse when I have to pay for full insurance coverage on this car. I'm trying not to worry too much, just work as much as I can without killing any customers or myself and keep looking for something else.
I'll twenty years old in a month and four days. Where am I going?
M.

Things I'd Say, Again.

If you were my friend, you would have talked to me. If you were my friend you would have told me you didn't like me getting close to your brother when you first saw it. If you were my friend you would have told me what you felt when you felt it, instead of blaming my father and me for mourning my mother. If you were my friend you would have helped me grow past my faults instead of saving them for when we were fighting to wield against me. If you were my friend you would understand that I don't belong to you. If you were my friend you would not press me to speak and then interupt me to cut me down for every word I say. If you were my friend you would know that just because I don't weep doesn't mean you hurt me any less.
I used to think you were wise, I used to think of you as logical. But now I know that you only like to seem to know, you like to use some version of logic to your ends. Now I see that all along you spun me closer under your control, told me make believe when we were kids in which you were always the queen, told me what I should think, played the role of teacher, and let me hide behind you when I was shy. Do you realize how brave I had to be to chose to do what I wanted over what you would approve of? If you were my friend you would be able to see yourself as something other than a martyr and victim of my flaws. And I know how you'll react to anything I say or do, so I guess I know you, but I don't understand the way you think or what you want anymore. I may have made a few mistakes, but I didn't betray you as you claim, and you have been cruel to me.
I think there's something wrong with you, everyone keeps asking me if you're seeking professional help, and I wish you would because I think it could help you. If you think you can tell me I'm a coward but you think I'm a beautiful person, then you're wrong. My thoughts of you are not so grand or sweet anymore, I don't want your forgiveness because I did nothing so unforgivable. If you could be the least bit humble or acknowledge your own wrongs then I could have hope for you. But I don't want the person you're being now in my life, no matter the history or pain entailed.
M.