Under my skin
August 10, 2009
Fast on the heels of my declaration of independence from one kind of family tie, I face another.
What does one do, when simply listening to the cadence of another’s speech, the emotion, knowing that the little tears in the corners of the eye, the breaking voice, were all just cues built in meant specifically for manipulation [to my ears], drives you into a hands-shaking rage?
No, that’s not healthy. But that IS family.
I’ll be honest. I’ve been avoiding my brother via the cold shoulder and various other defensive-shunting techniques for the past few months because every time I even consider having a sit-down with him, I get angry. It took two months to pen a response to his most recent outrageously audacious “I’m trying ever so hard, and btw, can I get a little more free rein around here if I help out some more?” missive. Are you kidding me? Because I’m pretty sure that was followed up by a distinct period of doing less. I never sent it because I wanted to be sure this was a battle worth engaging in.
Frankly, I just didn’t want to hear it. Not the excuses, not the whining, not the plaints that he’s trying soooo hard. None of it. Don’t care. Haven’t seen it, and don’t care. Patience hath boiled over and boiled off in this little pot, and the last thing we needed was steam in this already sweltering heat. Yet, how long can you ignore a family member who lives feet away from you? [At last count … three and a half months. We’re restarting the clock.]
Seriously, though. He actually came and apologized for being too loud, which he was, but really, it was an apology because he’d gotten caught. And for what? For the dumbest thing — I wasn’t out to catch him! I’d just remembered to take out the trash! [Serious. Check my Twitter. I’d just gone out to get the trash and ran into him outside.]
Jeepers. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was living in a trailer park, about to get shipped out to Jerry Springer.
So now I feel obligated to give the real verbal thrashing for the real issues I’m angry about – of which there are many, and of those many, all are justified – since I had to listen to his idiotic sob stories despite doing my darndest to avoid them and the angry rant I’ve got to deliver. It’s only fair. If he’d just left me alone, I wouldn’t have to play the parent role again. Jerk. *scowl*
I’m sorry you have to deal with this…I don’t have twitter anymore so I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but I wish for your sake that your brother would grow up and pull his weight.
L.A. Daze: I noticed you’ve been gone from Twitter, why’s that?
And you and me, both.