I have already,
has by now replaced,
dragging beside me,
bridges long burned.
I mind my own business; and when I don’t, it’s almost unfailingly in an attempt to try and sway an opinion in the direction of something I consider to be a worthy cause. Otherwise, it’s totally my nature to keep my head down and work on my own shit – easily block out the presence of others around me. I have nearly perfected the art of this: buzzing a loud noise directly through and across the existence of anyone else around me, in attempt to blend them in with background noise of the world around me. I’ve done this since childhood, perhaps as a coping mechanism to guide a lone little girl through a world of her chauvinistic, harsh pack of male wolves, who knows?
Anyway, the older I become this ability fades away – despite my heightened need for its effects; forcing me to have to deal with the noise of these people – people who would undoubtedly be shut-out by my buzz in past times. I’ve been forced to listen to their mess, my ears and mind assailed by the menial bullshit that such people consider as “problems” in their sugar-coated lives. It’s really hard on me, and I guess that bothers me in itself because what does that say about the shallow depths of my heart, in my creature.
I live with two people who have been spoon fed goodness since the days they were each born into a shiny, happy world full of promise and sunshine. Each was the first born in his family; each has the proverbial, doting mother who’s clueless to the ways of the Real World, and they both also have the patriarchal, idiot father in whom the family only “respects” for his pocket-book. Neither of my roommates has ever had to be without. Ever.
Their moms call them daily, and talk about shit that is irrelevant to everyone involved, including loads of slander surrounding other siblings and family members; their dads agree to help them do their taxes for free (and then end up paying the taxes and the late fees because of “memory loss”). Their siblings look up to them and treat them as if they are Apollo or whatever, further enabling the facade of importance and worth in the Real World. In both cases, this particular type of sibling idolization stems from the lies the parents have told the children all along about each child’s worth in the world, naturally creating a losing power struggle for the younger ones. They both did the six year college plan – and Mommy and Daddy footed the bill (which was inarguably a fuckload of money in each case); neither one graduated with a degree (which summarizes well, what they spent their six consecutive college years doing). Never the less, the place I live in once belonged to the well-to-do parents of one of them, in the days prior to his return from college, with no diploma. Still, here we are – they gave him the house anyway – I guess they feel like he earned it after partying so hard all those years in college, I don’t know.
The other one who rents one of the other wings, er – um, I mean “rooms” here is just as spoiled rotten in lifestyle, if not more extreme. He is the one who’s fucking despicable bitch girlfriend just got out of Club Fed for white collar crime; need I say more? What kind of thing steals from a corporation to the extent of millions of dollars and actually thinks they’ve succeeded in this day and age, anyway?
I have been stuck playing Mommy to the bitch’s high-maintenance little rat dogs that bark constantly for over a year now – yeah, I said a year…that’s all that happens to you when you rob someone blind, as long as you have money to get yourself out of trouble with the law – even if it’s stolen money…as long as they can’t trace it – the bitch makes me want to vomit. Literally.
Once, I sat in my room and listened to my roommates as they visited with an old college buddy who had dropped in to visit. They were all comparing the value of the estates that they had to look forward to receiving upon the collective deaths of their parents…a conversation that still gives me goose bumps to think about. Would I do the same if I had parents with fuckloads of money? Would I have grown up to be that same variation of the human species? Does ease in life and lots of money really make that much a difference in the psychological realm of existence? I suppose the answer is yes. This reality disgusts me even more than being poor does.