Saturday, March 7, 2009

My <3's without a home

The State of the House:

People are dying here. It's not a home I live in. There is no warmth except in my auto-built sunroof but sometimes, the sun's too strong and I have to come down and rest in my red room.

The only maid we have is taking care of 1.) an 87-yr old jerk, most of the time, even to her; 2.) a 3-yr old blah-blah from Ani-i; 3.) a husband waiting aimlessly for an overseas job that never comes. He is in my opinion, nothing but freeloader aside from being eyesore. She also, aside from being cooky, cooks smelly fish in the morning and irritates me endlessly with her mind games. She is overworked from my own description. She came to our house to conquer. I'll tell you this. She cannot conquer me. I think she is working with an undiagnosed mental illness: retardation. Seriously. Add to that, righteous indignation that has no place in my heart.

My only sister, 7 years older, just let go of a personal therapist she was solely responsible for taking abroad to work. After a major operation last July, 2008, she didn't take a much-needed vacation from work, only a few weeks in Helsinki with needy friends. She is a doctor but since she considers me an unnecessary baggage, she will accept no help from me, only take here and there and just forget about it as if I owed her something anyway. I respect her. I think she's a good, functional person, just not someone to entrust my life with. Sad but true. Our best conversation is an emotional argument by her. She gets so emotional, which makes me conclude she really needs a doctor...of the mental kind. She too is dying but will not care to admit it to a little sister like me. She feels I deserve no sort of "homey" information. She's just as lost.

My 87-yr old perpetually jerky father is obviously dragging me down just by still being alive and eating off my remaining hold on sanity. Enough said. Senile at best. Senile at worst. Smiling, cursing senile nonetheless.

My 23-yr old nephew with cerebral palsy. He tugs at my heart but what good can I offer the poor boy, who has been through nothing but nothing at all. He was better of sleeping the days off...without care about the world or himself. I'll always be here for him though. He offers me inspiration and hope. Ironically.

My household is comprised of nothing a but a series of mentally ill patients, waiting for nothing but the daily allowance of increasing boredom in their lives. They seem to be happy with that. Maybe I should be too.

I too am dying. I have nowhere to go but keep myself locked up in a room...of my choosing more than 30 years ago...and force myself to be happy without doing anything at all. I've been transparent for the most part. My life is nothing but an open book but people still refuse to see the page where I actually fall off and turn into a hologram. If it's alright with you, I'd rather turn the pages for you and if I choose to close the book...maybe it's time for all of you read another one that's more appealing.

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