Some Kind of Proof It's Not a Dream
I'm definitely getting a taste for the domestic life.
I don't entirely know when my brother decided that I was going to be the one figure in his life that he was going to listen to. In fact, I don't even know why he chose me. I insult him more than is probably healthy for his self-esteem and I know that I don't always listen to what he's saying.
But, last Friday, he wouldn't listen when my father told him to do his math homework. I sat across from him at the table with my Geometry book, cracked a few jokes about pens being mustaches, and he sits there and does long-multiplication. Later, after dinner when my dad and step-mom are at dance class (<3), I got him to finish. Sure, I had to listen to a long, thirty minute ramble about some Pokemon movie or the other, but he finished.
Still even tonight! He blows up, has what I would call his big gay freak-out if I felt mean or his midlife crisis at the age of eleven saying I was nice. My mom leaves to go and pick up my sister from volleyball (I'm so excited for her!) and he does this whole "mommy, mommy!" thing. I'm about two minutes away from slapping him, already yelling at him about how pathetic he is, and he runs upstairs.
Forget him, is basically what I'm thinking at this point.
So, later, he comes back down while I'm typing part of a History paper and apologizes. No more whining or crying or screaming--apologizes. He looks for his Nintendo DS, of course, because he has no life (did I mention that my mom unplugged the cable so I currently can't watch TV?) and is always playing games and watching TV (television dreams, hm).
My mom gets home, and she pretty much sees that he's listening to me right now. She makes me tell him to get in the shower, and I have to squirt fucking whipped-cream in his mouth because he refuses to go take a shower otherwise. (Still, this is on the condition that I make him a shake later.)
I just...I know I have to do it; the sanity of my life depends on it. I just don't understand why that is. It's like...he's eleven, okay? When I was eleven, when my sister was eleven, when most people were eleven, they did not need someone standing over them bribing them every inch of the way.
It doesn't make sense why it is that way, it just is.
I hate that you can get your way
Pretty damn well by the time I try
We all stop caring
When you start screaming
Playing games in television dreams
Becoming who you think you are
Planning days to make the clouds appear
Not that you're daring
When you start screaming
Wasting laughs on television dreams
You're only as good as I say you are
Goody little two-shoes
Fucked up child did lose
What I say you are
Pathetic
Someday, we're gonna die alone
Stomping feet, screaming, "You won't take me!"
Something from nothing
When you start screaming
Staring down at television dreams
When you have lived as long as me
Scratched-up throats and lungs screaming for air
Being who you are
When you start screaming
Signing-off for television dreams
You're only as good as I say you are
Goody little two-shoes
Fucked up child did lose
What I say you are
Pathetic
For credit
History repeats itself
Throwing books against the shelves
Spinning minds without our brains
Twisting skies mixed in with stars
I'm so behind on my NaNoWriMo. I'm making an effort to get some progress, but I don't have a lot. Barely two hundred words today. -sighs-
I still got soul.
I don't entirely know when my brother decided that I was going to be the one figure in his life that he was going to listen to. In fact, I don't even know why he chose me. I insult him more than is probably healthy for his self-esteem and I know that I don't always listen to what he's saying.
But, last Friday, he wouldn't listen when my father told him to do his math homework. I sat across from him at the table with my Geometry book, cracked a few jokes about pens being mustaches, and he sits there and does long-multiplication. Later, after dinner when my dad and step-mom are at dance class (<3), I got him to finish. Sure, I had to listen to a long, thirty minute ramble about some Pokemon movie or the other, but he finished.
Still even tonight! He blows up, has what I would call his big gay freak-out if I felt mean or his midlife crisis at the age of eleven saying I was nice. My mom leaves to go and pick up my sister from volleyball (I'm so excited for her!) and he does this whole "mommy, mommy!" thing. I'm about two minutes away from slapping him, already yelling at him about how pathetic he is, and he runs upstairs.
Forget him, is basically what I'm thinking at this point.
So, later, he comes back down while I'm typing part of a History paper and apologizes. No more whining or crying or screaming--apologizes. He looks for his Nintendo DS, of course, because he has no life (did I mention that my mom unplugged the cable so I currently can't watch TV?) and is always playing games and watching TV (television dreams, hm).
My mom gets home, and she pretty much sees that he's listening to me right now. She makes me tell him to get in the shower, and I have to squirt fucking whipped-cream in his mouth because he refuses to go take a shower otherwise. (Still, this is on the condition that I make him a shake later.)
I just...I know I have to do it; the sanity of my life depends on it. I just don't understand why that is. It's like...he's eleven, okay? When I was eleven, when my sister was eleven, when most people were eleven, they did not need someone standing over them bribing them every inch of the way.
It doesn't make sense why it is that way, it just is.
I hate that you can get your way
Pretty damn well by the time I try
We all stop caring
When you start screaming
Playing games in television dreams
Becoming who you think you are
Planning days to make the clouds appear
Not that you're daring
When you start screaming
Wasting laughs on television dreams
You're only as good as I say you are
Goody little two-shoes
Fucked up child did lose
What I say you are
Pathetic
Someday, we're gonna die alone
Stomping feet, screaming, "You won't take me!"
Something from nothing
When you start screaming
Staring down at television dreams
When you have lived as long as me
Scratched-up throats and lungs screaming for air
Being who you are
When you start screaming
Signing-off for television dreams
You're only as good as I say you are
Goody little two-shoes
Fucked up child did lose
What I say you are
Pathetic
For credit
History repeats itself
Throwing books against the shelves
Spinning minds without our brains
Twisting skies mixed in with stars
I'm so behind on my NaNoWriMo. I'm making an effort to get some progress, but I don't have a lot. Barely two hundred words today. -sighs-
I still got soul.