Taxes and Pants

One has, if one wishes, two choices regarding the influence and example of one's parents. One can either 1) Chose to act like them or 2) do everything possible to be the exact opposite and pretty much end up in the same place anyway.

My parents, you see, have this kind of, well, verbal diarrhea. It happens whenever they pick up a phone, or write an email. See, instead of one, normal, info filled conversation or email, I get a flurry of annoying, poorly timed, and scatterbrained emails and phone calls in rapid succession from them each containing about half an idea's worth of information, which I must then sift through and reply to painstakingly, and then get another eighteen emails from them outlining one half of the 9 more things they needed to say.

Needless to say, this really irritates me. Actually, it drives me fucking crazy. I woke up this morning to 3 emails from my mother regarding income taxes. I wrote her back with the info I had, and told her I would get back to her when I knew more. I came home today to 6, yes 6 more emails from her. I'm sure I will wake up tomorrow to another 12, cause the only thing that says email me excessively more than an email in reply is an 8 hour lack of response.

Both my parents do this, and I die a little inside every time. They have suppositories to help treat explosive diarrhea, and I'm thinking of shoving something up their asses in an attempt to get them to instate a mandatory 4 hour waiting period for emailing me, to let their ideas build up into a semi-coherent, single, manageable narrative. Fat chance though.

Oh, and I bought new pants today. Thanks, comme ca ism.