Paula Light is the lovely hostess for The Monday Peeve, where I get to do the thing I cannot do in real life – complain.

It pisses me off when someone say this, “Oh, you’re young, you’re okay.”

To them, I want to say, “I maybe young but I’m still human. I can’t just get up and dust off my pains like it’s nothing.” These days, I don’t feel so young. So it pisses me off even more when someone say those words.

Last Friday, I had a small oral surgery, in which my gum was cut open, something was inserted before it was stitched shut. The surgery may had been small but pain still ensued. I woke up the next morning with a swollen left cheek and a low-grade fever. Though the fever subsided after a dose of heavy pain killer, I was left with a dull thumping headache and a lot of pain from my surgery wound.

When my uncle called to tell me to take him to our internet provider to cancel his internet service, I told him of my headache and pain. Mom interrupted and told him I was okay. How does she know I was okay? My gum was cut open the day before. I should had been resting and kept my mouth shut.

When my uncle came over, he saw me and told me I was okay. Again, how does he know? “I am not okay,” I wanted to say, no, I wanted to scream. I’m far from okay. I have a list of medical complaints that’s multiple pages long. I can’t stand up straight without my back hurting. I can’t lift my arms without my shoulders making a strange rocking sound like two rocks rubbing against each other. There’s a pain in my stomach that wouldn’t go away. That’s just the tip of the iceberg.

The next day, when I once again just wanted to spend the day at home, mom wanted me to take the newly-purchased set of suitcases to her sister. Her sister and her husband were having breakfast when we arrived. They invited us to sit at the counter where they all began talk really loud. I’ve mentioned on this blog a few times that my mom’s BIL is my least favorite person in the whole world.

His manners are deplorable. He would stuff his mouth full of food and talk. Ever heard of “never talk with your mouth full?” I wanted to say so many times but the guy’s emotions and reactions are more sensitive and unpredictable than a mental patient. “Never talk with your mouth full” was drilled into my brain by my stepfather when I first arrived in the U.S. and I thought it was common knowledge. Apparently not and looking at him absolutely disgusted me.

What pissed me off during that visit (other than my uncle’s deplorable manners) was that my aunt blamed me for not reminding her to cancel the auto payment set with the health insurance company in prior years. How was I supposed to know that? I wasn’t the one who set it up. Shouldn’t my aunt be the one to keep track of her stuff?

The worst part was my mom, too, blamed me for this and it’s completely unfair. I have trouble tracking my own bills. I’m supposed to track this sort of thing for how many other people?

This makes me hate this group of people even more. They only want me when they need something from me. When they don’t, they don’t give a damn.