The old man pulled together his suit jacket, making haste down the steps outside the marble palace.
“Too many fucking steps, make me a ramp someday,” what a mouth!
You know, fuck this. I’m going to cut the crap. Mum’s got bronchitis - if she hadn’t’ve gone to the doctor yesterday, she would’ve had pneumonia in a matter of hours. She’s been sleeping fitfully for the last day, swearing constantly because she’s in a considerable amount of discomfort, and the house is quickly going to shit.
You see, one woman runs this house. One woman earns all the money, and then comes home at six, seven, ten o’clock and then cooks dinner and cleans it all. She’s resorted to cooking all the meals on the weekend because a certain man has to use twenty pots, pans, stupid fucking silicon cooking mats and five bowls of tupperware just to cook one meal, and then doesn’t wash up after himself.
One man buys three heated towelracks in the middle of spring when he’s pleaded with ALL WINTER to do something about wet towels in the morning. One man has to fill up the garage with washing machines and bicycles - hoses, wires, shoes, televisions…
One man comes home and eats six pieces of bread lathered in peanut paste and assorted fats, then spends half a thousand dollars going to sleep clinics to work out why he can’t sleep because he snores so loud. ITS BECAUSE THE FAT IN YOUR NECK PHYSICALLY OBSTRUCTS AIR TRYING TO GET INTO YOUR LUNGS. We went to Sam Dean, the family’s been going to Sam Dean for like 30 years, he knows us all inside and out - so when was it different when he told you to lose weight? When was it different when that was his first reaction?
Why can’t you take the bus to work? Why do you pretend not to understand me? You’re such a genius when we sit in front of SBS and tell me all you know about Tito - complete bullshit, I’d add, but why can’t you have that attitude about things that fucking matter? Like wasting 18 bucks every day keeping your car in a car park where it keeps getting broken into?
Endless fights with Jordan. Endless, fucking fights. Over everything.
Who’s going to give Mum her lemonade? Your exam’s on thursday, isn’t it? (“It was today, for the seventh time.”) Take photos of the broken doorhandle for me. Clean up your room.
Fights over the most inane things. Either of them could blink and they get trapped in those most fantastic power struggle I’ve ever seen. Neither of them knows when to stop, screaming, yelling, doors, clothes - I don’t know which one to plead with.
Jordan? Don’t he and I communicate marginally better? Shouldn’t he understand he’s fighting a brick wall? No, he’s just had an irrational hate for a 120 kilogram man for most of his life!
Dad? That’s like trying to reach for the stars.
I haven’t got it that bad, I don’t have to do much around here, I don’t ever really do much. Its just that this man is slowly killing Mum. When she had hernias everyone told her it was all in her head - ha! The hysterical, hypochondriac woman! She’s clearly just imagining her intenstines being shoved through the muscle lining in her waist, yeah!
“You can have a cleaner when you’re better.”
I just give up.
A man who will make me a cup of tea, but not butter my toast? Insists I have to get a haircut the second he sees me after I’ve woken up? Endless, meaningless phonecalls. Shouldn’t you be working? Five pairs of new Nikes, a new one every time we go shopping there. The most awful slurs at Mum when she’s five seconds late rushing down the five elevator shafts to St Georges terrace - why? Why do you get so angry? She makes ALL the money, and when she’s caught up in a 54 million dollar settlement her WHOLE COMPANY is watching, you’re jumping up and down on your hat in the five minute waiting bay.
Why do you stomp around at 9am in the morning, opening, closing cupboard doors - why does Mum have to get up at 9, spot on the dot when she could’ve been days away from death? Why can’t you get a better job? I read your resume to some department. You can’t because you make no sense. Words repeated, useless sentences, pointless explanations… Words for the sake of words.
Everything is repeated. You learn nothing. You get angry at the same things again and again, how can it possibly be our fault? Where is the world you live in? Why can’t anything be your fault?