When Independence Strikes

My old man is going to Israel tomorrow. He’s staying there for a couple of weeks or so.
Then, he and my mom will probably go on a cruise for their anniversary.
I’m staying here all this time doing either of the following:
1) Getting my parents’ anniversary gift ready (which I will not describe in case my parents read this)
2) Getting stoned (whoops…)
3) Shitall
You know how most people don’t like their parents or outright hate them? I wonder if anyone thinks about that before having a kid. Mostly it’s the parents’ fault because they really are lousy parents. But I can’t imagine not liking my parents, much less hating them.
I don’t know if it’s society or whatever but it’s becoming rather trendy to bitch about your folks. "My parents are the worse, they won’t let me go out and get drunk and drive home with a couple of other drunk dudes and fuck my silly little ass off with no rubbers."
Or my all-time favorite: "I hate my mom, she always tells me what to wear." (Guilty, I have said that once or twice, minus the "H" word. Considering my sense of fashion, or lack thereof, I don’t blame her).
So whenever I imply the fact that I like my parents, and in fact have a great respect for them, and practically owe them my life, others seem to have a lot of trouble understanding that. Probably just like I’m having trouble understanding their resentment for their folks.
In any case, here I am, a little over two months before my Aliyah, wondering if I’ll have any hair left after my first few weeks of independence (helplessness) or if I’ll tear it all out. The fact that I’m 23 has nothing to do with it. I’m an only child and am spoiled rotten.
Best case scenario, I get too busy trying to get a job and an apartment and getting adjusted to Israeli society to even be thinking about how helpless I am without having my mom cooking for me and my dad taking care of all the bureaucratic and financial shit I don’t understand anyways. Taking my grandmother’s cooking into account, I’ll probably forget about my mom’s cooking faster than you can say "couscous."
But that’s obviously besides the fact that I will miss them terribly nonetheless. So my lack of a sense of fashion, coupled with my inability to handle kitchen appliances may result in disaster.
Gotta love being spoiled!
Peace, love, and falling back on concrete.
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