Never heard anyone say, "I Love You", so Coldly.

So, she sounded okay on the phone. But, then she got here. Never heard it so coldly.

What I didn't turn in:

Why I Didn't Write A Concert Report

I was sick to the stomach in 7th period, today. I was nervous, but there were no tests to fear, so it didn't make sense at the time. But, now it does. As it did, at 5:00. My mother called, at said time– she insisted that she was coming over, and that she was going to bring my sick brother some soup. Funny, how she didn't know that I had been sick; sicker than my brother; before he even contracted a mild cough and high fever, until after the fact, when my father suggested– by phone of course, and through an interpreter– that my brother had come down with whatever I'd had.
It took a moment, I imagine, for my existence to register again, with my mother. It was interesting talking to her on the phone, again, today. She used to call pretty often– sometimes twice in only one week– before our great falling-out; and it was almost like old times again, tonight. Back then, however; conversations consisted of “Has your brother eaten?” “Yes. How are you?” “-Click-” and by click, I do not mean that my mother clicked in any way – but I am rather, referring to the audible snub that followed any further attempts at conversation. I don't know exactly know how to recreate the sound of the silence that followed such calls, but I suppose you could compare it to a flat-line, on an EKG. Tonight's conversation, however, featured a all new addition– she actually waited to hear my responses– to questions pertaining to my brother, of course, but she listened, nonetheless .
I haven't even considered inquiring about the fate of the flowers; I haven't asked my brother, as to whether or not my mother ever looked at her Mother's Day present– not quite wishing to know the answer. While I have my suspicions, my brother would know first hand, having been there with my mother since mothers day. It had been longer for me, since she wasn't in the mood to grace me with her presence, on Mother's Day. In all honesty, I'm too tired to write now.
I would have related something to each of the pieces at the concert, maybe I would have even written something intelligent and heartfelt. But, I've lost my muse, and now the only piece, in that entire concert, I can think of is Northern Lights. Northern Lights, the song that I read was about the angst the composer endured after the death of his mother. Well, I've lost something, and a mother has something to do with it, but isn't quite the same as a dead mother. It's more like the angst of one who has been disowned and then expected to smile for a picture. I got her to say “I love you.”, funny; I've never actually heard anyone say “I love you.” so coldly. It was like she was saying one thing, and implying the contrary. Funny woman. I guess I'm ranting, and getting nowhere. Oh-well, my thoughts are all written in that pamphlet – my original impressions, that is, from the night of the concert, during the experience itself.
Just snapped at my father for no reason. Feel stupid and ungrateful. Should go to bed, before I think anything else.