I'm sick of being fucked up...
Last night as I was lying in my coffin(otherwise known as my bed) listening to depressing emo music and feeling sorry for myself, it struck me that I was in the mood for a fight. Now normally, I don't like starting shit, but I was in one of those moods. Around here, there's always a fault you can find with something. My mom was lying on the couch like the lazy fat ass she is and she was yelling at my brother. I think he asked her why she was saying something or whatever, and she replied "Because I'm your mother." That really pissed me off because even though she produced my brother, she has never done anything with him since he turned two. She just isn't a mother. She works, she comes home, she sits and she complains that nothing gets done, and then she eats, and then she sleeps. Every single day. She expects all of us to care for her. So, instead of just walking away like I usually would, I said "No you're not." "What," she asked. "You're not a mother. You don't do anything to reflect that you're a mom." That was that and I went to bed, disappointed because there really wasn't a fight.
This morning I woke up at eleven. I went downstairs, entered the kitchen, and found my mom standing at the stove holding a wooden spoon. She looked me over and made a face of disgust. I was wearing purple pajama pants with snowflakes on them and this gray and black baseball style Pink Floyd shirt. I didn't think I looked that repulsive.
She then handed me a list of chores. I had to vacuum, sweep, mop the floor, and help her with dinner. Last night I cleaned the entire house. It wasn't even messy. When I brought that to her attention, she just acted like I hadn't said anything.
And then I reread my list. I saw that there was a bullet that said I was going to help her with dinner. Help her with dinner? My family is one of those families where one person gets McDonald's, one person eats a frozen pizza, one person has crackers, and then another person cooks a T.V dinner. We eat at separate quarters of the house. We don't communicate; we don't unite as a family at the dinner table. And I am completely content with this arrangement.
I just shook my head and retreated into the living room. My father was painting the walls. I heard him muttering the words "Bitch. Crazy. Stupid." I agreed, but I didn't tell him that.
Ten minutes later, my mother declared that it was time for lunch in a fake, cheerful voice. I was ready to kill. I walked into the kitchen and I saw my brother sitting in a chair with his face in his hands. His bowl of mac n' cheese was 2 feet away from him. He continued pushing it further away from him, as if doing so would get him out of eating it. My mom handed me a bowl of it. I started to walk into the living room, but she told me that we had to sit and eat like a family. My dad came in, sat down, and began stabbing his macaroni with a ferocity I had never seen before in my life. My mom tried telling my brother that there were starving people in China, but that never works. I hate when adults tell kids that. It never works and it never will. I ate as fast as possible and quickly left the table. I think it was then that my mother realized no one was talking to her.
After lunch, she changed into her usual outfit: big, gross, baggy underwear and a black t-shirt. She flopped onto the couch and turned on the T.V. She yelled for my dad and told me to get her a glass of water. And just as abruptly as the transformation begun, it ended. And now, maybe some of you will perhaps understand why I am insane.
This morning I woke up at eleven. I went downstairs, entered the kitchen, and found my mom standing at the stove holding a wooden spoon. She looked me over and made a face of disgust. I was wearing purple pajama pants with snowflakes on them and this gray and black baseball style Pink Floyd shirt. I didn't think I looked that repulsive.
She then handed me a list of chores. I had to vacuum, sweep, mop the floor, and help her with dinner. Last night I cleaned the entire house. It wasn't even messy. When I brought that to her attention, she just acted like I hadn't said anything.
And then I reread my list. I saw that there was a bullet that said I was going to help her with dinner. Help her with dinner? My family is one of those families where one person gets McDonald's, one person eats a frozen pizza, one person has crackers, and then another person cooks a T.V dinner. We eat at separate quarters of the house. We don't communicate; we don't unite as a family at the dinner table. And I am completely content with this arrangement.
I just shook my head and retreated into the living room. My father was painting the walls. I heard him muttering the words "Bitch. Crazy. Stupid." I agreed, but I didn't tell him that.
Ten minutes later, my mother declared that it was time for lunch in a fake, cheerful voice. I was ready to kill. I walked into the kitchen and I saw my brother sitting in a chair with his face in his hands. His bowl of mac n' cheese was 2 feet away from him. He continued pushing it further away from him, as if doing so would get him out of eating it. My mom handed me a bowl of it. I started to walk into the living room, but she told me that we had to sit and eat like a family. My dad came in, sat down, and began stabbing his macaroni with a ferocity I had never seen before in my life. My mom tried telling my brother that there were starving people in China, but that never works. I hate when adults tell kids that. It never works and it never will. I ate as fast as possible and quickly left the table. I think it was then that my mother realized no one was talking to her.
After lunch, she changed into her usual outfit: big, gross, baggy underwear and a black t-shirt. She flopped onto the couch and turned on the T.V. She yelled for my dad and told me to get her a glass of water. And just as abruptly as the transformation begun, it ended. And now, maybe some of you will perhaps understand why I am insane.