Wednesday, March 21, 2012

I feel like a psychiatrist

You know how shrinks just listen and then when people are done talking and leave, they just end up kind of standing there and occupying the room?

(I don't since I've never been to one, but I'm imagining it's like that.
Besides, I'm thinking that I wouldn't mid going, just to see what he thinks...)

I come home after a long day and I listen to my dad retelling me his day. In detail.

I like my meals, since they kind of make the only peaceful part of my day. And here he is, retrograding through today hour by hour.

I’m unemployed, as thousands in this country and millions around the world and thus don’t have the right to grab the talking stick. One cannot talk without a talking stick.

So I listen. And I’m not even the type that can just shut off and pretend to be listening. No, I soak everything in.

How he met his friend, how he cut the trees, what he was planning to plant, how he’s planning to cut them.

And then I got home.

I’m almost done with my meal and he’s still describing. The lunch has been there all day. Two meals in fact. Plus soup. Now he wants to eat and I warm it up for him.

That’s dad.

Mum spends a lot of time at my brother’s cooking, babysitting, cleaning up and what not, so when she gets home, she’s completely wiped out. She doesn’t tell as many stories, but she’s all drained out and annoyed.

Whatever I say is wrong. Or at least not good.

Poor people who catch me in my talking time. I probably don’t stop ranting.

Poor you.


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