nice people have it the hardest

The alarm clock goes off; I wake up. Another day for me I guess. Julian's already running around making an unruly racket away from his mother, as usual. I sigh and get up, stretching my arms. Seems like every day's the same for me nowadays. It's almost like I'm caught in a time flux where the same day repeats and repeats, except the date and seasons change...


I stand up and go to the kitchen, tripping over the cat as she scampers over to her food bowl and eagerly waits for her breakfast. Can't ever ignore that cat, otherwise she bites me, so I go and fill up her bowl first before I get my own food ready. My wife's ranting at me again, saying how I should come home earlier to take care of Julian so she can finally have a peaceful afternoon. Same old story, just another day...

Dunno when it started falling apart like this. I'm just a nice guy who tries to help everyone out... Seems like no matter what I try to do, someone's still not happy. It's like trying to drink water and breathe at the same time; an impossible juggling act.

"Why the fuck do you always have to do so much extra?" my wife always asks me. Is it so bad that I try to help people out selflessly? Well, that was what it was at first. But then it seems like everyone started to rely on me, and if I didn't continue my charity and keep my cheerful mask on, everyone would be disappointed and angry because they'd think I was just being selfish. We wouldn't want that, would we Sara? But damn, I could never say that to her. I just sit there and take it like the fucking slave that I am.

Sometimes I get so mad at myself that I can't stand up to other people. But the words just never come out...

I guess this is just my life. Forever trapped in an endless loop of serving others and getting yelled at by my family. I guess I've grown used to it. A complacent prisoner, that's what I am. I can stand for this to happen for the rest of my life. Well, I have to.

"Come on Jess," I whistle to the cat and put on my hat, forcing a plastic smile onto my face for the day and exit the house with my wife still ranting behind me.

Then some fuckhead (dunno who it is, he does this every damn morning) starts singing as if he's taunting me, and every morning I feel my plastic smile droop a bit, and I have to fix it back on before I get on with the rest of my day...

♪♫...~~Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat and his black and white cat~~♫ ♪...

1 comments:

one_entity said...

I like this one.

although i can't help but think, "blood and guts are flying/Postman Pat is dying/Now we teach him not to drink and drive." -alternate lines >_>