And the World Keeps Turning

(Content Warning: Mental Health & Emotional/Verbal abuse)

Life is so hard.

There are always so many things you need to do. You need to cook, clean, organize, paint—wash the car, cut the boxes, take out the garbage—

(You needed to call Shirley back, damn she’s always such a drag. She voted for that stupid fucking piece of shit and she always)

—call your father, medicate your daughter, watch the news, call your niece—

(goes ON about a religion that is as stupid as her. She could stand to be more worldly, WORLDLY, what’s wrong with such a thing. Half those shitheads would benefit from knowing more rather than knowing less and)

—put the dishes back, clean the dishes black, go up the stairs and down the stairs and into the garage and out of the—

“Janice!”

You pause. Your daughter is taking out some sort of package from the doorstep. Shopping again. She’s addicted. She’s gonna spend up all that money, and she’ll need you to bail her out. They always do. Everybody needs you.

“Janice, what could you possibly need? You have everything!” You say, hands settling on your hip in mild fascination.

Your daughter looks dull, as she always does. Eyes hooded, pajamas sloppily flopped across her frame. She doesn’t quite look at you. But she does speak.

“I bought new things for my bathroom—“

Five, six

“Janice, honey,” you sigh. “You don’t need anything else. You have everything!”

(And your father. You need to call your father because he’s old and decrepit and can’t order his own food because he’s stuck in the past. What makes him think he deserved to not learn how to use a phone like everybody else? Yeah it’s annoying, but get with the program!)

“Can’t I decorate my own space?”

(You always thought he was smart but he’s actually quite stupid. Used to be daddy’s girl, but now daddy’s girl needs a vacation! Somewhere luxurious and easy. Ha! Nothing comes easy in this world. This world is struggle and bullshit. All you get is that you’re alive, but nothing is worth it once you get this old you’ve already experienced everything there is to)

“Why would you need to decorate it when it’s perfect already! You’re just going to clutter it and ruin the gift that I gave you. I updated it for you. And so we can leave this house, and this stupid fucking state.”

She doesn’t say anything after that. She just stares at the floor. You grin, shaking your head.

“Don’t forget to cut the boxes when you’re done, I’m tired of doing it!”

Your daughter might need to up her medication, she looked a little pale. At least she manages to sleep, unlike you who has sleepless mucus filled nights in your room. Ah, to be young. Your daughter needs you, just like everyone else.

You sit down in the recliner. It’s six-thirty; the news is on. You watch and start to balk at the screen. “You idiot!” The t.v. transitions to other reports. “How awful,” there’s a young looking white girl smiling in her mugshot. “Stupid bitch!”

You feel a pang of hunger and decide to get up. You go to the pantry and before you know it, there’s another person behind you. Soft, and muffled. Barefoot as usual.

“You’re hungry, again? Didn’t you just eat?”

She says nothing. She just edges her way beside you. You grab your yogurt covered almonds and go back to sit in the chair. Your daughter doesn’t sit with you. She’s still staring into the snack cabinet and then later goes to the fridge.

“We aren’t a store! If you want something get dressed and get it!” You exclaim, but then later laugh as this same stupid commercial plays in the background.

(At least you always know what you want. Your daughter is always so indecisive like she thinks this place is a restaurant! It’s not that complicated, if you can make quick decisions everybody should be able to. It’s common sense.)

She paces between the pantry and the refrigerator. She still doesn’t sit down. When you look back you see that she’s gone and you slightly deflate.

Back in her room again. Probably with the door closed.

You place eight pieces of almonds in your mouth and you barely even think about it. You shouldn’t have this snack. It’ll probably give you diabetes. Who cares! You’re going to die, anyway. Everybody is.

The news ends with something about dogs. Ew. Nasty ass creatures.

Janice wants a dog, but she can barely take care of herself! You take care of her! You take care of everyone. Because if there’s one thing you know for a fact is this life doesn’t care about anyone—but if you stopped taking care of everyone everything would collapse.

Who would do the cooking for your sweet yet heavily obese daughter, who is always trying to eat something fancy. With her fancy snacks, fancy drinks, fancy doordash food that isn’t even good because all these restaurants are crap around here!

Who would clean the house which is always filthy with dust and dust mites, bugs, and random spills that your daughter never properly cleans. You always have to clean up behind her because she doesn’t know how to do anything up to your standards. But who does? Most people are sloppy and dumb. They don’t know how to do much they just make messes and get in the way!

Who would organize this home? And it is a home, you made sure of it. You keep all your ducks in a row and the few that you don’t. Whatever! You’re not perfect! Why does everyone expect so much of you? You just want to sleep for a week and never wake up.

You need to cook, clean, organize, paint—wash the car, cut the boxes, take out the garbage—

(You need to call Joe. He was supposed to change the toilets that’s been sitting in your garage, but it’s typical that a man never knows how to get things done.)

—call your father, medicate your daughter, watch the news, call your niece—

(You wonder what Janice is going to eat tonight.)

—put the dishes back, clean the dishes to ash, go up the stairs and down the stairs and into the garage and out of the—

You sigh.

This life is so hard. But it wouldn’t stop turning without you. That’s what everybody knows.