Not so pleasant, but plenty conventional.
Recipe for Wednesday Night loneliness:
Take one father. Lonely and frustrated and angry at the world. Give him a temper and a short fuse, and a job that has drained, aged and made him remarkably bitter. Maybe he's always been this way, but I've only started noticing it.
Add to one mother. Manic depressive, desperately sad and completely unfulfilled in life. Talk to herself at the top of her lungs. She's drowning in self pity and contempt and bitterness and some pretty unhealthy wrath.
A pinch of little brother. Brittle, brilliant and completely unstable. Dylan, circa Highway '61 Revisited. Likes thrash metal. He's got an exam tomorrow, and all of today he's sat around the house watching television.
Mix liberally with eldest son. He's stressed about his life, feeling totally isolated from everyone in his family, and many of his friends. He doesn't understand why he feels this way, and some days he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. There are maybe three people in the world he thinks maybe understands him a little. One who's fighting with him, one who he's a little angry at for simply telling him something he might have needed to hear, one who he is not sure that it means that much to her that she means that much to him. He's trying to get his house in order, but at the moment, it's like a damned Rubik's cube.
Garnish with what should really be a comic misunderstanding that leads to the father flying off the handle in anger, the mother crying and shrieking about how terrible she feels her life is and how depressed she is, and the brother crying and door slamming and wailing about how no one understands him.
The eldest son made some really good hot chocolate to help wash it down with, though.