So thrilled by everyday’s moments, events, episodes or how ever I could call those unforgettable house affairs. Today, yesterday the day before or even a week before. I can’t keep a track of “our family happenings” ,since I’m not good at managing journal, diary and following the whole concept of having one !Slowly suffocating in so I’d call this choke hole, that magnificent locale, living with a duet of the most irrational beings on this planet, I probably couldn’t even limit it by saying to our precious earth, but rather go for the whole wide universe and beyond it.
He, as my “fantastic” stepfather or as I’d call him a traumatized screwball, who’s forehead drops down his back and who grows more bushes all over his body, than on the top of his empty skull, sheltered by skin full of thin, messy patches – a two-faced silent looser and manipulator. When it comes to that other individual, my hysterical vulgar and lost in time mother that just complains all the time, about everyday’s life and everything in general, and how bad she feels in her daily existence, and how this or that, while biting on her thin lip, making it look like she has none, wrinkling madly at that certain moment, that it could just literally made anyone barf, nice and quick if they got something bad stuck in their stomach. I can’t put in words how those two make me feel, but I could clearly compare this sensation to the one of when I’d wear a spiky leather collar over my neck that’d be rapidly pulled by some invisible string every other minute, and which literally would leave me out of breath giving that nasty burning sensation over the part of my throat.
The most of the life they lead, is patio style in that tiny cozy scenery space, that’s perfectly suited for those two old crabs sitting comfortably in ikea chairs with the little red table that stands aside and where they puff and huff and constantly cough on those stinky cancer sticks, whispering and plotting by a cup of dark coffee, that usually leaves the grounds in between their teeth, and that anybody could easily spot when they open their mouth for another macabre story to start while those wicked mornings. The Grim Reaper most likely just awaits around the corner playing with his large scythe waiting patiently for one or the other to sniff the ground from the bottom side.
The Ultimate subject throughout outside adventures at that visionary place is often me, how I ruined their life, how I ruined my life and my kids life and if I’m not being in the center of their schemes, they always tend to brag about someone else who of course just like me gets under their sensitive delicate skin,so they can initially sit down and make their day nodding one another. Small minds.
There are also times for a better entertainment, and it comes on the days when those two get in that mode of craving some “juice” to run through their tubs. For me it’s either time to move out of their comfort zone and not bother them just to keep it quiet, when they are usually not, or laugh my butt off and pray so the end won’t turn in some sort of tragedy! Drama always plays a major role during those life time spectacles. Sometimes I just sit and watch that pathetic duo performing such a pity, that it simply feels like watching another ongoing episode of soap opera thing. My grandma used to love those crapy cheap daytime serials, where you could actually miss on a thousand of those nonsense screen chapters and you would always know what was going on. Over and over the same. So that’s exactly what my parents zoning is about. They sit dwell over the same chapters of the past and getting on each other’s nerves or turn into a “wonder couple” and go off on me….
This feisty, slurring, mumbling language sound that travels through the room, after let’s say having more less 10 to 15 beers, if not having 70%of that German hunting elixir labeled with a deer head picture, and ufff that’s when the party is getting started, and it really doesn’t matter who gets to be the main attraction while they clap their filthy mouth , it always makes me think in perspective and not being able to anymore consider those two lovely Gods creations as human beings! They simply turn into drunk hideous monsters!
Usually when “mother of the storm” comes in action I’m becoming a hopeless victim of her wasted vicious person! She repeatedly calls me all possible names, spitting out words that someone could probably google the meaning of , before being able to find any in a common dictionary. Me her little precious pearl turns into worthless cunt that ever came into life, such a painful misery looking at her only daughter. That distorted evil reflection of the booze speaking through her like a demonic entity. She just got possessed, just waiting for her head start to spin around like during exorcism ! I’m never good enough I mean not good at all, and I admit to not to be the perfect child but such a humiliation I have to take on those occasions seems a “little bit “too much. It’s hard when your heart starts to pound from her sick shit that she keeps throwing at me and the feeling gets so overpowering and what’s left is bitter taste and total hopelessness ! I’d say it hurts deep, and takes life to unpleasant negative thought that just destructively bounces up and down inside like a heavy ball knocking all the happiness in just a blink of a sore, watery eye. And yes sometimes I cry, asking why is that me that has to suffer because of others ill, sadistic and cruel mind. Never lucky enough to find a proper answer an explanation to this insanity. Disrespectfully opinions my empty life in front of my little angel, my daughter ,not even being able to lower the note of that tractor hitting sound of her voice, making my child pop out like two round plates! I fucking hate them!!!!