For over a year I have been living at home with my parents. It’s not something that I am proud of. Especially since I am 29 years-old. If you want to know how living with my parents makes me feel, check out the picture below:
I am a burden. I am a failure. I am a full grown man doing full grown man things once his parents go to sleep. And no, I am not talking about building decks.
Despite feeling like a pathetic loser who can’t seem to pull his pants up and stop relying on his parents, living at home has allowed me to save a decent amount of money which I plan on using to move out as soon as possible. I am not sure where I will move to, but am sure that living with my parents is no longer mentally healthy. The weekly cycles that I have endured have caused damaged that may never be repaired. With that said, I now present an experience titled: 7 Days in Hell.
I worked. My parents worked. We met at the dinner table where we ate and had the following conversations:
the bitch accusation pt. 1
One of my mom’s co-workers has accused my mom of calling her a “bitch.”
Apparently the accusation was reported on Friday night. My mom wasn’t informed of the situation until today because the woman, who this bitch accusation was reported to, didn’t want to ruin her weekend.
“Why’d she say you called her a bitch?” asked my dad.
“Because she’s crazy,” replied my mom.
From the stories I have heard, this woman is not only crazy but also a living nightmare. Rumor has it that she might be bipolar. I’m not an expert on mental illness but don’t believe being bipolar gives you the right to be a mean, lazy, and incompetent human being.
the company guy from Kentucky
Some company guy (who works for the same company as my dad) flew into Illinois from Kentucky to do some work. Supposedly he was unsatisfied with the 4 door sedan that was issued to him by the car rental agency and insisted on an SUV.
“He wanted the SUV so he can sleep in the car,” said my dad. “That way he can pocket the cash for the hotel…shit.”
Once again, my parents and I met at the dinner table for good food and even better conversation.
“Why’s that cabinet door open?” asked my dad. “Every time I walk into the kitchen there’s a cabinet door open.”
“I was using the microwave,” replied my mom.
“Well one of these times there’s going to be an accident.”
the bitch accusation pt. 2
My dad asked my mom about her bitch accusing co-worker.
“She didn’t say anything to me,” said my mom. “I didn’t say anything to her.”
o company credit card, company credit card! wherefore art thou company credit card?
My dad has yet to receive his company credit card. He needs this company credit card to buy parts for work. Sometimes, when he needs a specific part, he uses his personal credit card. This causes dinner table arguments.
“For the hundredth time!” exclaimed my mom. “Don’t be using your personal credit card at work!”
My dad reassured her that his personal credit card days are over. “I told’em. I’m done using my personal credit card. If they want to give me a company credit card. Fine. But I’m not using my personal credit card anymore. Whatever needs to be fixed will have to wait. That’s it.”
I spent the evening at a friend’s house. I talked to his wife. Saw his newborn daughter. Went fishing with him and his son. We all ate lasagna outside on the deck and talked about normal life stuff. After dinner, we watched a movie. After the movie, I drove home and thought about pulling into my parents’ driveway, opening the garage, entering the house, turning off the kitchen light, brushing my teeth, and heading downstairs to sleep.
Tonight was leftover night. My mom and dad ate at the kitchen table. I ate on the couch in the den.
My mom never called me upstairs for dinner. What the fuck?
I felt angry.
Me want food now!!!
I felt happy.
Me glad no have to listen to dinner table conversations!
The house was empty this morning.
Scared that my parents would walk through the front door and put me to work, I grabbed my computer and drove to the library.
I returned hours later to find my mom planting flowers and dad mowing the lawn.
I managed to sneak inside unnoticed and take a quick shower.
Just when I thought I have avoided my parents, I walked into the garage and ran into my mom.
“I’m going to Brian’s,” I told her.
“Ok,” she said in her “we’ve been working outside all day what have you done” tone of voice. “You coming home?”
I woke up around 9 am. My dad was already outside working. I wasn’t sure where my mom was. After eating a piece of fruit, I decided to go for a bike ride around the neighborhood.
When I returned from my bike ride, I stood in the kitchen and drank some water. My dad was still outside working. It looked like he was messing with the pond. I went downstairs to grab some fresh clothes to change into after I took a shower.
I walked upstairs and found my mom unpacking groceries.
“Are there any more bags in your car?” I asked.
“I unpacked everything already.”
“Are you doing anything?” she asked. “Cause if you’re not, you can help your father outside.”
“I was going to take a shower right now.”
“So you have plans then?”
Well, we are back to Monday, and since I am still living at home, the weekly cycle or 7 days in hell will repeat itself in one horrible way or another. More dinner table conversations. Hiding out in the library. Disappearing during the weekends. Escaping to various friends houses. No where to run or hide. No rights. No space of my own. No privacy. No dignity. I have chosen to live the lifestyle of a child and therefore treated like one. On a positive note, I did manage to avoid yard work this past week.
RING! RING! RING!
“What are you doing later?” asks my dad.
“I planned on going to the library.”
“Well, I’m gonna need your help cutting down some trees.”
“Ok,” I say as I imagine wrapping a noose around my neck. “I will be home around 5.”
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