Be Warned: This is a Goat Entry (cf. May 25 entry)

Well, for the second time in as many nights, I'm getting off the phone in tears in someone else's house. I haven't cried this much since my last old movie marathon. Last night was...anyway. Tonight was dealing with something I haven't been on the receiving end of in a while: parental disappointment.

Don't get me wrong--the 'rents aren't arms-up shamed by me or anything. No, they're more subtle than that. I called for my weekly check-in-at-the-house phone call, which unfortunately hasn't happened in about two weeks. And I called in the middle of "Studio 60" for them, which was crappy on my part. I forgot that it's at 10/9 central and apparently AK counts as central. (What really bites is that, while I remembered that Steve and Michele don't have cable/tv reception, I forgot that I had shows to watch, so I will have to catch up online tomorrow.)

So I'm on the phone with my parents. My father's computer is acting out again, so he's a little distracted and irritated: understandable. Mom's a little distracted by the show and the fact that it's 9:30, which is kind of late for her. She's usually asleep on the couch by now. I talk about the fact that I'm housesitting for Steve and Michele, which leads to discussion of Steve needing the vacation because he's been a little tetchy in choir, which somehow then led to a confession of my newly-claimed back-row status.
*Sidebar: The back row has always been where "the cool" kids sat; the ones with all the good quips and fun antics in choir. Until this year, I had not been "back row," and have recently been reveling in it. Before you say it, yes, I realize how juvenile it is to care about cool points this late in the game, and I know I'm far beyond the high school age after which this should cease to be a concern. But I...really like being one of the cool ones, for the very reason that it took so long to get there. So there's that piece of baggage for the goat.

Anyway, no big thing in the conversation and we move on. Until about twenty minutes later, and after a variety of topics, my dad, who has been silent for a couple of minutes, pipes up with "Did you ever think that maybe Steve counts on you NOT being back row?' Talk about conversation bombs. Dammit, here I go again. "I mean, you were saying that Steve has been frustrated, and you're making jokes in the back..." It's like the man can see in my head and I hate it. I hate the hypocrisy of it all--a month ago I was bitching about lack of focus in the choir, particularly in large rehearsals, and how it makes us look and sound bad, and have I done anything about it since? No. I have added to the problem. Knowing exactly what I was doing the whole time but refusing to care because I was being a rebel and breaking the rules: something I generally don't do because I'm fairly bad at getting away with it.

Worst part of it is, I know Steve counts on me, not for my voice, but because in the past I have been a focused member of the group during rehearsal. I have been the shusher, as it were, and now I need to be shushed. And I've seen the disappoinment and a little confusion on his face when he looks at me, and I've brushed it off. Because being funny is, apparently, more important to me than his respect. How feking lame that is. What a slap to the face after everything he's done for me.

Now that I'm wallowing in self recrimination, I think it's time for bed. Better outlook tomorrow, though I may need to count a few goats to get to sleep.

Truth of the moment: Just because you have a guilt complex doesn't mean you've done nothing wrong.