There’s nothing left in the world that excites me. I’m quiet nervous to those who surround me and just watch. Watch me like the had nothing better to do in the world. It’s something to grief about in the world. The worst part of all is that’s it nothing but mimicry. A cry after all is annoying, it nags and even if you don’t understand. You try to amuse the character in whichever ways you could enlighten their spirit and make them remember and assure them of your presence acknowledging theirs. In a vow to bond for the kin relationships that has been made to set you apart and together alike in communal partnership. The spirit holds itself to that. It must appreciate the world of it’s kind for the value foster, say both, between you and I.
And I wish I didn’t have to write anymore of this bullshit. But here I am again. And they come back again, after again. It’s not them. It’s not them. It’s me. I tell them. Continuously, time and time again. Maybe, it’s them deciding whether it’s time for me to move out. And they’re so ahead of themselves. But what do I know. I just help them out. That’s all I am. Meat space like the caricature in that movie who just moves in one frame always tamed by the same temperament.
And anyways, what’s I to do with their temperament. My parents are getting desperate it seems, they don’t have anything to look forward to anymore. They want me to get a job. It’s going downhill, everything is. There are not enough earnings amongst each family member. Each and every single one of them is getting desperate. They eat more outside for the lack at home that never seems to satisfy their appetite. And my mother, well her sense of optimism is always on downward spiral. Along with her sense of control, she’s totally helpless against the situation that she’s facing against. Worst of all, she alone faces the pains and sorrows of being without the means and capability to reach her goals and dreams in life. She calls her life a misery she disgraces it for the luck that’s shamed her and belittled her with no-family of her own, no considerable sums to travel away to Mexico and reunion with her mother and father before they fade out from this world. And I, My petty face, my petty logic, will always find the strings to play and make a mockery of it all. As if there’s no other life to endure but this one, and we’re but all out of means and capability to resolve our worsening scenario. Day in and day out. She’s frustrated. She’s above all, it seems forsaken. We didn’t even buy her present. Not a single rose or hug. We disgraced her name without any love.
And my father, the modest creature he is. I guess. I don’t know where to begin. I rather just leave it to voids with him, and I guess that’s explains about all there is to him.
Besides that, my mother wants me to go each day starting Monday to apply and send applications. Start looking for work. I can’t sit around anymore. She’s not excusing my sorry-ass anymore. And it’s her way of telling me, I need to become a man and prepare myself on the way to independence and maturity. Far from it. Despite everything, I can be content. And that’s disgrace I lash upon my face for nothing feeling a bit of remorse for holding out, for not looking for better ways to bring in new capital. New ways to sustain them and me. A family is crumbling because one part has refused to work along the scheme of things. It refuses to accept his role to bond too close to them. And they all think for better or worse, the worse of me. And that’s the worse thing there is. I guess there really is only one way to prove to them that I can’t do things. That I can help them out financially and help them get out of our crumbling situation. And that there is something better awaiting us. I know I can, If I really try. That we could really find some way out of this. And all the same, I hate them. I can’t stand the face of their thoughts let alone their company, their fucking incessant complaints about every little thing that irritates them, as if I couldn’t give two fucks about what this color or to that man has.
One thing I could agree nonetheless is that I have reached my peak of freeloading from them. It’s getting out of hand as the expression goes. I and them must separate. They’ve completed their dues as far as shelter and providing a livehood for the child I was, and the adolescent peeve I was. There’s no secret here. Fucking Dumb Fucks. I hate watching TV with you.
And I hate the fucking tricks they throw at me from the wayside. Like some fucking catchphrase that I’m suppose to follow with a fucking laugh, knock myself to the ground. Maybe their missing the laughs the moments of memories we once shared, maybe after all. That’s what we are, but it so strange of me to neglect that side that I never allow to arise from the depths, the hollow, the shallowness that I’ve inundated myself in.