Weekend Mornings

Some mornings I wake up to the screaming and violent presence of an angry mother. An unpleasant beginning begets another dull day, either ending with me doing absolutely nothing productive or being harassed to some level. That is how my weekends usually carry out... It's a terrible process. All I want is a quiet day, one where I won't have to hear about my useless contribution to society and life in general. I passive-aggressively approach this situation often in my head; I always end up being some sort of doctor, fixing life's mistakes–myself and my actions. Other times, I create an alternate universe because reality is not my friend. In the end, I always bear with the situation and say nothing, do nothing, and act as though nothing happened. The other day, someone told me I was perfect. Funny, because I am no where close to perfect.