The rants that never were.

I was going to have a lovely little anti-parental rant, and even planned out the basics of it while lying fuming in bed last night, but naturally (yet still annoyingly), my parents were very nice to me today, possibly in reconciliation, and now I'd feel bad about it. They do this all the time, and while I know that as a decent human being I should accept their apology and carry on with my sad, wretched life (of which you have a small insight), it does feel somewhat like a waste of good venting material. Carrying our volcano analogy one step further, I'm a real lava spurter being bombed with liquid nitrogen canisters. I've run out of steam. Still, ah well, this was the basic vent, which was either going on facebook or being contributed as a delightful addition to your reading material:

Geez, it's just brilliant when you've returned from a cricket match in which you managed to seriously injure yourself, yet heroically kept on playing (I know, I'm quite the martyr), returning by your own means, despite being under the impression that a pick-up was being arranged (the "So what time should I come and pick him up" was what really sold that idea to me), and feeling like collapsing in a bruised and battered heap, not to wake until some time late the next millennium. Even more splendiferous when, instead of fulfilling the aforementioned sleeping ambitions, you have around one and a half hours worth of history homework to complete. Having finished that, it's so late now you might as well wait for your parents to come home from the pub, which in the meantime you have learned is where they are enjoying a pleasurable Jacob-free evening, and just talk for a bit- not necessarily for a long time, you're still feeling like falling unconscious on the spot- you know, tell them about what's been happening while they've been drinking, ask them what they think of the cuts and grazes you can now proudly display as a tribute to your sporting determination and dedication, ask them how they've been, inform them of your glorious victory, generally spend some, albeit limited, quality time with them that you think you've been missing out on with them over the last few days. Alas, not to be, you foul child! Obviously you enjoy staying awake past the stage of bleary eyed incomprehension, and should be punished. Now, go to bed! At this point you might well consider trying to explain why you're sitting waiting for their slightly swaying return, it's quite hard for them to guess, but you'd really rather go to bed. Clearly the "Quality parent son communication" isn't going to happen, made as obvious by the scent of beer and wine in their breath as by their unnecessary snappiness. So, with a slight yawn/groan as your aching muscles protest after a long, painful evening, you stand up to leave. Unfortunately, this yawn/groan is clearly a sign of unruliness, and you will now be taken to task in a  tirade filled with about as much empathy and understanding as would be displayed by a giant comet crashing into a weary planet, utterly destroying it. So, now you're crawling up the stairs, as at some point during the evening the calf muscle that had been causing problems after you pulled it during a warm-up (one of the subjects you were planning to discuss with your parents) has gone from uncomfortable to agonising, and hear something shouted from below about how in future there might well have to be times by which you must be in bed being enforced. Well, frankly, looking back on the evening you've had, that idea doesn't seem so bad.

I'm afraid I have have got slightly back into the spirit of it again just there... sorry about that. So yes, as the post of this title suggests, rants such as that are often never really voiced. Strangely enough, a post about non-existent rants seems to have spawned its very own, quite existent, rant. Such fun.