Just Me Ranting/Practice Writing

Untitled Part 6

"Mother, I just don't see why you expect me too write these minutes, when you threw my notes away.." I said. I wrote the notes on the back of my agenda at last month's meeting, and my parents had decided to throw them away. "Well it was your fault for leaving them in the car. You can read the email." She clicked the 'Play' button on the TV "But, mother, the email says nothing about the business meeting! We're talking about something that went on a month ago.. I don't have that goo--" She paused the TV "You are going to have to figure it out."

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I just sat there, on the couch, sobbing as quietly as I could. My pen was half an inch away from the paper, and every time I went in to start writing, nothing came to me. I had 1 hour to get this done and it isn't working. "What's the problem with her?" My father asked. My mother scoffed "She has to write her minutes, yet, since she didn't bring in her notes, she doesn't know what to do. It's just turning into a /whole/ other panic attack. It's a position she's had for a year!" My mother does not understand. Never has, never will. She can turn my life to a complete hell hole and not care. That's why writing my Secretary minutes is so stressful. I feel like the weight of the world has been carelessly dropped on my shoulders, and every one assumes I can handle it all. I wasn't perfect in the first place, physically or emotionally. I was born very small - 4 lb. 2 ounces, to be exact. I was 3 months early, and my head equaled 1/2 of my body weight. I had my tonsils removed because I couldn't breathe,  and it went downhill from there. I always had trouble focusing on things that I feel I am forced to do.