“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Sunday, June 03, 2007

So last weekend I went on the annual Memorial Day cemetery tour. It was Ok. Got to stop by the farm and got some pictures of the headstones of some of my relatives that fought in the civil war. It only occurred to me to do so because, for the first time I can remember, they had confederate flags planted amongst the flowers.

I would post the pictures, but my digital camera isn't working and I took them on my sister's camera and as I've stated previously when people say “I'll email you those pictures!” they're really saying “Hey, kiss my ass!”

By the way, Brian, I'm still waiting for those vacation pictures from THREE FUCKING YEARS AGO. So, you know, when you get a minute...

The one person that has sent me pictures is Kaye. She sent me pictures from Brian's wedding last year, including some lovely shots of Miss Wednesday, whom she has no particular problem with me courting even though I'm technically old enough to be her father.

Yeah, it's kinda creepy to me too, but if I'm delusional enough to suppress all the depression and enough rage to keep me from randomly beating half the people I come across in the average day then I can suppress the dirty old man feeling.

Besides, how much longer can I possibly live anyway? The warranty is void and to this day I still don't know how many parts are missing...

Speaking of which, I've been talking to a neurologist about my memory problem. Those of you who know me in person are familiar with this. It's nothing major, just a general scatterbrainedness (YES, more than before) and I can still function. Function quite well even. I just thought maybe I should check it out. I figured maybe when I flatlined I might have gone just a little too long without oxygen to my brain and might have some mild brain damage (if one can quantify brain damage as MILD).

Well the neurologist said that it was not only possible, but LIKELY. Yeah, that's shit you wanna hear. So now I've got to go to the hospital that fucking killed me and get the medical records from that day and go get my brain scanned.

Oh goody! More radiation in my skull!

I wonder if they'll email me the pictures...

But not to worry anyone. The doctor says it doesn't seem to be affecting me in any significant way, just a low-grade, short-term memory thing. I'm just getting the scans done to make sure it isn't degenerative (I-E: getting worse), but the doctor and I both seem to think that if it was then I would have seen major problems by now.

But then what do I know? I'm fucking brain damaged...

Anyhow, I told you guys all that to tell you that after we went to the cemeteries we stopped by my brother's house. He didn't go with us because he wasn't allowed to. Der Fuhrer keeps such a tight grip on his balls that if they'd started out as lumps of coal they'd be fucking diamonds by now. Diamonds that she would then have made into earrings which she would never take off except maybe for the next time she wants to get knocked up and then only for the three or four minutes it would take to accomplish that.

Oops. I seem to have tipped my hat and given away that my visit kinda sucked.

Oh well...

As always it started out well. This is a trick of the animal kingdom. You see what looks like a nice, tasty little fish, you move in to get it and just when you think all is well, fucking BANG! Turns out you fell for the bait and you're on your way to being fish shit.

Well just when I was feeling Ok I hear my brother and Der Fuhrer talking about their swimming pool with the bad liner and the possibility of my Mom paying for a new one.

I made the mistake of making an offhand comment about it.

I really should stop doing that.

Those of you who keep reading this know that I've been feeling bad about borrowing the occasional $50 to keep one of my utilities turned on. Well as much as I write about feeling bad about that, it's nothing compared to the amount of shit my brother and Fuhrer-in-law made me eat for it. Well now they're hitting her up for $2,000 for a luxury item that's only fucked up because my brother didn't properly winterize it.

So I got to hear a long lecture about how my utilities would be paid if I'd quit being lazy and go back to work. Yes, that's right, my problem is that I'm too lazy. Apparently I just sit around all day having fun while the rest of the world goes to work so I can sponge off them.

Well you know what? It's Ok for ME to say that, because I feel bad about the position I'm in, but FUCK THEM.

Actually, you can make up your own opinion about weather my brother should go fuck himself since he never said a word. He never does in these situations. He just lets it be taken for granted that her opinion stands for both of them since he isn't allowed to have one of his own anymore.

I don't think she's been a citizen for two full years yet, but she lectured me on how I'm the problem with this country and it's my fault that she and my brother won't have any social security money when they retire. And not only am I bleeding the government dry, I'm spending all of Mom's money. Yep. Every fucking penny of Mom's money.

That's why it's such a shame that the swimming pool needs fixed now. Because with me spending all Mom's money it might put her to some hardship for her to shell out TWO-FUCKING-THOUSAND DOLLARS for it.

What an asshole I am. I really should be more considerate of others. I mean, it's not like I moved into a decaying old house that should be condemned to save money and give my grandmother some piece of mind. It's not like I live with all my utilities on the verge of getting shut off so I can stretch every penny I can so that I don't need to borrow from my family (Well, my family excluding the two that are currently bitching me out, I never asked THEM for a fucking dime, and frankly, after this incident, I wouldn't take it if they offered it.), and it's not like I haven't spent every day of the last FIVE-FUCKING-YEARS trying everything to get myself back into the shape to start working again. No, I'm just a fucking prick that's burning through all of Mom's resources without a care in the fucking world and ignoring all advice from my noble sister-in-law who has a hundred solutions to my problem that I'm just too big an asshole to try. Never mind the fact that every time I try one of her solutions they never fucking work. That's not her fault. It's MY fault. I don't try hard enough, I want to go on like this forever and I just keep making excuses so that I don't have to become a successful adult like they are.

Yeah, they're so fucking successful that they're in debt up to their asses. So successful that they can't be there for their friends or help out their family (especially my Mom whom they're always 'mad' at unless they goddamn need something), so successful that even though they both have good jobs my Mom is still paying for my brother's student loans (mine are differed) and they have to borrow money from her for their FUCKING POOL.

If that's how they measure success they can keep it, I'll continue being useless and be terribly sorry that all this money they've gotten it into their heads that I'm taking from Mom is inconveniencing them.

One small part of this is my fault though, but it can't be helped.

See, ever since this happened I've let on like I'm fine and my stomach doesn't hurt. I do this because I don't want my friends and family to worry and most of the time it really doesn't hurt. Some days though it does. Some days it hurts in ways I can't begin to describe and I go see the doctors and everythng, but I don't say anything to Mom because I don't want her to worry more than she already does. I fight it off and play it down and I think I do an Ok job of not letting on that I'm hurting, but sometimes I do and I don't want Mom to know. Consequently, this means the rest of the family doesn't know it either, so they assume that everything in my life is just goddamn peachy and I get subjected to the kind of tirade listed above.

And whenever we're playing a round of “You Know What Your Problem Is?” I can't defend myself at all. It's against the rules. Any defense is just me making excuses, and we all know there is no excuse for not living my life according to her standards is there? I mean, I DID marry her, right? Oh wait, NO, I fucking DIDN'T, did I?

All the same though, the penalty for making excuses (especially if she can't argue against them rationally) is that she attacks me where she thinks it hurts. My weight, my house, my lack of a relationship, ESPECIALLY the lack of a relationship. She loves to harp on that one and that really chaps my balls. The fact that she would keep emphasizing the one that she thinks hurts me the most is just vicious and wrong.

Maybe she thinks she's motivating me, she does work in social-rehabilitation situations, but you know what? I'm beyond giving a shit at this point. And if you think this rant will change things, it won't. Nobody in my family reads this and even if they did they'd find some way to twist it around into me being an asshole (not my Mom, but my brother and Der Fuhrer).

What it all boils down to is my condition is inconveniencing them and there's no excuse for that. The fact that I have the government and modern medical science on my side is immaterial. In their opinion my life is on hold because I want it to be and nothing will convince them otherwise. Even after I get patched up and go back to work and get on with things, ten, twenty, thirty years later they'll still throw this in my face at every opportunity. Why? Because she wants to live beyond the means of both of their salaries, he doesn't have the balls to say no and my little problem is making it hard for them to borrow money from Mommy.

They're entitled to think what they want to. Fuck, I'm willing to concede that they may even have a point. But don't tear me down for something and then do it ten times worse

Don't worry though, all will be forgotten next time they need me to do something for them.

Comforting, isn't it?

One thing was a little different this time though. One magical little thing that both explains the savagery of this last attack and makes enduring it all worth it. I haven't confirmed it yet, but I believe that for the first time in as long as I can remember, I weigh less than my brother.

This is due to a combination of my little amphetamine friends and him becoming a big fat-ass (as happens to a lot of house pets when they get neutered). So yeah, I showed up to their house appearing to be feeling good (I was actually in some pain, but not so much that my accusers would have noticed) thinner than the person that's called me lard-ass for the last 25 years, AND I'm growing my hair out (something that he lost the ability to do shortly after high school). I look and feel better than he does, so they have to tear me down.

Well guess what? I just vented and now I feel great. I don't dwell on this shit. I get it out. I spew it out into this vast wasteland we call the internet, free to roam with all the porno and spam. Frolic, oh my bitterness and disillusionment, frolic and be merry!

Maybe I'm nuts, but as fucked up as things are I'd rather live the rest of my life like I am now than have my spirit crushed like that. I just hope it makes them feel a little better to blame their problems on me, I really do.

Oh, and to anyone reading this that might be going to his next get-together and you're wondering why I'm not attending, see the above.

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